Rise and Fall
by Shinysavage
Summary: AU part 5. Voldemort has returned, and he's out for blood. Still questioning his identity, Harry now finds himself at the centre of the coming war. The light has ruled for fifteen years; now the dark is returning...
1. Goodbye, Harry

**Harry Potter and the Second War**

**Book 5: Rise and Fall**

**Summary: **Voldemort has returned to full strength, and he's out for blood. Harry may be the second coming of the mythical sorcerers, or he may just be a talented young wizard. Regardless, war is coming, and Harry will be at the centre of it. The light has governed for fifteen years; now the dark is returning.

Rated M for violence, death and language.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and associated characters, places etc are the property of J.K. Rowling. Anything you recognise is hers, everything else is mine – I'm just playing with her toys for a while.

A/N: Just a quick reminder – italics = spell, Titus, Parseltongue, or possibly just emphasis. It should hopefully be obvious from context which it is. If Titus and Harry are talking, then all conversation is mental, unless otherwise stated.

**Chapter 1: Goodbye, Harry**

Harry Potter sat cross-legged in the back garden of Privet Drive. He was in a rare good mood. He had slept well the previous night, and his aunt and uncle had been out all day, while Dudley had been at a friends. He had therefore had the house to himself. Normally, Harry would not have been pleased by this; he enjoyed his family's company, and didn't see as much of them as he would like these days, as he spent his term-times – and an increasing amount of his holidays – at Hogwarts, or with friends. However, his family had been suffocating him recently.

When he was calm, and could think about it from their point of view, he couldn't blame them for being concerned. He had, after all, been kidnapped by Death Eaters a month ago. His blood had been taken, and used to restore the Dark Lord Voldemort to his full strength. They had duelled, and Harry had escaped. Narrowly. Very narrowly. On his return to Hogwarts, he had found that one of his best friends, Neville Longbottom, had been killed by Sirius Black, Harry's former godfather.

So yes, he could understand their concerns. Especially when you took everything else into account.

He had been having nightmares – replaying his encounter with Voldemort, which he had got through largely on adrenaline. The full terror of it had not sunk in at the time, but a month later, safe at home… Most nights, he woke up drenched in sweat, his throat sore from yelling out. Even Dreamless Sleep did not seem to help. Worse, perhaps, were the dreams where he saw Neville duelling Sirius. They were worse not because he was seeing his friend's death constantly replayed, but because in the dreams, Neville always survived. He had studied offensive magic. Harry intervened. Dumbledore intervened. Sirius ran. Something always changed the outcome. When he had those dreams, he woke up happy, only to find his good humour drift away when he remembered that Neville was, after all, dead.

All this did not put him in a good frame of mind for dealing with his magic.

Frequently tricky to control, ever since the graveyard he had been having extra difficulty. It was not so much that he was much more powerful than he had been previously, although his power had undoubtedly increased. Albus Dumbledore believed that Harry was a sorcerer, one of the original magic users. Such beings were, before Harry's appearance, largely believed to be extinct; many believed they had never existed at all. Harry wasn't sure whether Dumbledore was right or not, but he couldn't deny that he felt… well, he couldn't quite put what he felt into words. But he would walk down the street, to the local park, and the magic radiating from everything would dazzle him. He had been sitting under a tree, watching Dudley play football with some friends. Slowly everything about the tree filled his senses, clouding his mind, his magic rising to wrap itself around the tree's essence. It had been overwhelming, and Dudley had had to shake him to rouse him. He had pretended that he had dozed off in the warmth of the sun, but in reality, he had been lost inside his head, lost in feeling the tree. Going shopping with his aunt, he had sent her into a mild panic when he had simply stopped in the garden centre, feeling the plants as something about them twined with his magic – he had let his magic rise, and every flower there had suddenly bloomed, just for a second.

He could even feel vague traces of magic coming from the Dursleys', and that made no sense at all – they were Muggles, completely non-magical. Everything about his magic seemed confusing these days, and he didn't like it.

But today, he was rested, and alone. He was able to practise.

The back garden of Privet Drive was bordered by tall hedges at each side, so nobody could see into the garden from the other side, even if they looked out of an upstairs window. It was perfect for learning the feel of his magic again. He could have done it inside, but the curious sensations that bombarded him outside were dampened when he went indoors. Dampened, not silenced. He could still feel them, at the edge of consciousness. He wasn't sure yet whether this meant the sensations were created only by natural things, or whether something like a chair produced only a mild version of the feelings. He didn't really know how he would find out, either. Even Titus, the temperamental voice in his head, was silent on the matter.

He settled against the wall of the patio, fixing his gaze on a particular tree branch. Slowly, gently, he allowed his magic to spread out from his core. He closed his eyes briefly, as he felt it ripple out from every pore of his body, soaking out from under his skin, his nerves tingling and the tiny hairs on his arms standing up. His whole body felt alive, pulsing with energy and magic, and he felt the familiar wind ruffle his hair, blowing cool against him. He opened his eyes again, and looked down at the lawn.

There was a gentle, almost insignificant tug on his magic, and the earth beneath the grass was disturbed. A shoot sprouted, poking up from the earth, spiralling upwards. It slowly turned green, then grew leaves, then a head, yellow with white petals. Harry felt more magic seep into the newly sprouted daisy – still almost unnoticeable, like a moth landing on his arm – and the daisy grew taller, brighter. More alive. Then, after a moment, the head bowed, the petals wilting, dropping from the flower. The daisy faded, dying, and crumpled to the lawn. Harry reached out to touch it with the tip of his finger. There was no spark inside it now. Birth to death, in a matter of seconds.

What was he doing to it?

* * *

Harry tapped the bricks in sequence, and the wall split apart in front of him. The Alley lay in front of him, flat against the portal, and he stepped into it. He felt the familiar shudder as his body adjusted to a different concept of space, and then he was through. The magic of the portal made his skin tingle unnervingly. He looked behind him, at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. Remus was waiting in there for him, having a drink with a friend.

Diagon Alley was bustling, as ever, but the shoppers were more hurried. Nobody stopped to chat, confining themselves to a brief wave of the hand as they hurried from one shop to another. It was the first time Harry could remember coming to the Alley when no-one had stopped to gawk at his forehead. It was something of a relief, but the reasons behind this change were upsetting and unsettling. A _Daily Prophet_ billboard outside the Magical Menagerie declared the latest information on the war, in their usual exaggerated bluster. Truthfully, from what Harry had gleaned from his guardians, there wasn't much of a war going on at the moment. Harry's escape, and Fudge's uncharacteristically swift response to his information, seemed to have thrown Voldemort off-balance. Harry was willing to bet that the Dark Lord had banked on Harry's death, and a few months at least of confusion in which he could wreak havoc without response. Instead, the scales of power remained about equal, although that wouldn't last. Once Voldemort had decided his course of action, all hell would break loose.

This did not stop even low-level panic, however. Nobody wanted to be out too long, in case today was the day that Voldemort launched his attack.

Harry walked briskly down the Alley, his hands in his pockets. He was a little worried himself, if he was honest. Not especially about the prospect of a Death Eater attack – although he remained alert, his magic hovering beneath the surface, ready to strike when he needed, and his fingers were curled around his wand in his pocket. But Parvati had not sounded happy when she had rung up, and she hadn't explained a particular reason for wanting to meet. Of course, she could just have wanted to see her boyfriend, but he had sensed that there was something else on her mind.

She was already sitting down when he arrived at Fortescue's, eating an enormous ice-cream with a spoon. Despite the legendary high-quality of Fortescue's creations, his girlfriend did not look happy. Harry sat down opposite her, plastering a smile on his face. She looked up at him, and her eyes were red.

"Hey Harry."

"Hi there, how're you?" He leant across the table and hugged her. She smiled, and hugged him back, and as he sat back she let out a quiet giggle, her face lighting up for a moment.

"You need to be more careful, Mr Potter."

Harry frowned, and looked down. He sighed, and reached for a napkin. "This was a clean shirt as well. And now I'm going to be wandering round with ice-cream all over it!"

Parvati smirked. "It's your own fault. Besides, you could magic it away."

"Restriction of Under-Age Magic?"

"I'm sure you could do it wandlessly. Besides, the Ministry wouldn't be able to track your magic somewhere this crowded, you know that."

"Yeah, but we're in public, and in case you haven't realised, I'm quite recognisable…"

"True," she conceded, with a tilt of her head.

Harry settled back in his seat, the atmosphere a bit happier, and a more genuine grin on his face. Parvati grinned back at him for a moment, but then went back to looking at her ice-cream. He sighed.

"What's up sweetheart? You sounded upset this morning, and you've been crying, I can tell. Come on, you can tell me."

Parvati looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "It's my parents. They're worried about the war, they remember what happened last time… They want to move the family back to India. As soon as possible."

Harry stared at her in silence for a moment. "For how long?"

Parvati shrugged. "As long as necessary. Until the wars over, assuming we win. Forever, if we lose."

"But… What about your friends? Your education? What about us?"

She looked away. "There isn't much point in studying if you could be killed tomorrow, right? And there's good schools in India, Hogwarts isn't the only magical school in the world, you know that. And…"

"And what?"

She winced. "They don't think that you're terribly safe to be around at the moment."

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. His mind was suddenly filled with distinctly uncharitable thoughts about Mr and Mrs Patil, but saying them out loud would do nothing to help the situation. Parvati looked up at him, misery radiating off her. He sighed, and reached across the table, taking her hand in his.

"They're probably right," he told her, quietly. It pained him to admit it, but he knew it was true. He'd always been a target for Death Eaters, and that would be even applicable now. Parvati frowned at him.

"You want me to go?"

"Of course I don't! But what else are you going to do, run away from home?" Harry paused, as Parvati seemed to be giving the idea some consideration. "You do realise that you can't, don't you? You'd have to go back eventually, and where would you stay?"

"… At yours?" The look on Parvati's face indicated that she fully realised the implausibility of this suggestion, but Harry played along.

"Yeah, that'd go well. 'Hey Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, this is Parvati, my girlfriend. She's run away from home and come to live here, ok? I'm sure you'll get along really well!'"

Parvati kicked him gently under the table. "Alright, so it's a stupid idea. I still don't want to go though. I want to stay – I'd want to stay even if we weren't going out, I've never been to India, I don't know anyone there…"

"You'll be fine. You'll make friends easily, you know you will. And they'll be falling over themselves to ask you out." Harry tried for a light-hearted tone of voice, but wasn't sure he succeeded. Parvati quirked her eyebrow.

"Whoopee. Boys I've never met following me round with their tongues hanging out. I can hardly wait. And it's not like I'm going to head out looking for a replacement for you, you know."

"I know, I know. I'm just kidding around – trying to cheer you up?"

She acknowledged this with a wan smile. "I know. And who knows? The war could be over by Christmas, and then I can come back!"

Harry grinned. "I hope so. That'd be nice!" And so improbable as to be impossible, he thought to himself. The chances of the Ministry finding Voldemort by Christmas, let alone defeating him, were miniscule. The idea bordered on insanity. He didn't say this though. Parvati genuinely seemed to believe it, if the hopeful look in her eyes was anything to go by.

"Harry, I know you might not be in the mood anymore, but… Could we just hang out now? Have one last day together?"

He couldn't resist her when she looked like that. "Sounds great. We'll start with an ice-cream – and I'll eat this one!"

* * *

Harry trudged back to the Leaky Cauldron a few hours later, his mood even worse than it had been earlier. Parvati had been collected by her mother, who had not even tried to greet Harry civilly. She had been too busy scanning the Alley for potential threats, her wand out. Parvati had thrown her arms around him, starting to cry, and her mother had practically pulled her out of his arms before they apparated away. He kicked a stone from his path, and it clattered against a wall, the sound echoing around the now largely deserted streets. He still couldn't quite believe that, in all likelihood, he would not be seeing Parvati again. Even if he survived the war – and he was going to do his damnedest to do so – they would probably have moved on by that time. The war would probably last several years, at least.

He looked up at the Ministry roof, visible over the buildings around him. What was going on in there, he wondered. Perhaps Fudge was ordering the arrests of suspects, perhaps the Wizengamot was passing wartime decrees – perhaps, just perhaps, the Aurors had caught a vital cog in Voldemort's network, and were right now interrogating them fiercely. Perhaps they would be raiding Voldemort's headquarters before the day was out, and the Patils would not have to leave the country at all.

"_Optimistic to the last, eh Harry?_"

"Got to keep my spirits up Titus, wouldn't you say? Even if it is just a dream."

"_I suppose, although I'd go for real pleasures over pipe dreams in your position._" Titus paused for a moment. "_I'm… sorry that she's left, Harry. You were good together."_

"What would you know about it?" Harry enquired, surprised. Titus was not usually this pleasant. "Relationships are hardly your area of expertise, are they?"

"_No, I'll admit that – but I'm inside your head, remember? I know what you feel, and when you feel it. I know how much you enjoyed spending time with her, even today. I know you'll miss it._"

"Yeah, I will," Harry whispered, more to himself than to Titus. Titus fell silent, and Harry approached the portal back into the 'real' world. The portal's magic washed over him, his skin tingling again, and then the wall was closing behind him. He leant against it for a moment, then made his way into the Leaky Cauldron. He brushed his hair down over his scar before setting foot in the bar; it would probably be fairly quiet now, but he was definitely not in the mood for autograph hunters today. Remus was sitting in a corner booth, engrossed in a book. He looked up, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the air automatically, Harry's scent pronounced to his enhanced senses. It was only a few days to the full moon, so they would be even better than normal; there was a good chance he knew that Harry was upset before he even saw him.

"Hey kiddo. What's up?" Remus placed his book down on the table, the spine creasing. Harry grinned slightly, imagining Hermione's pained expression every time she saw that happen. He flopped down in the seat next to his guardian, and looked up at him ruefully.

"Parvati's family are moving back to India, they're scared about the war."

Remus sighed, and ruffled his hair. "I'm sorry Harry. But they won't be the last – they're certainly not the first. I'm sure you'll see her again."

"Yeah, maybe. I doubt it though, let's be realistic about this."

Remus shrugged apologetically. "Probably not, one way or another. But you're young! Not even fifteen yet, there'll be plenty of girls after you, you'll see."

Harry smirked at him. "Speaking from experience there Moony?"

"Don't be cheeky… Come on, let's head home. Your aunt's got dinner waiting for you."

As they walked out of the Leaky Cauldron, heading for the Underground, Harry spun round, scanning the road behind him. Remus turned as well, drawing his wand as he did so. He followed his ward's gaze, but could see nothing.

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"I don't know… I just – felt something, I guess. Like someone was watching us."

Remus looked round again, and inhaled deeply. "I can't find anything suspicious… But let's apparate instead, hmm? They can't follow us like that."

Harry nodded, relaxing into Remus' grip, and then the blankness of apparation engulfed him. After they disappeared, the crack of displaced air echoing around the street, someone walked out from a doorway. The hood of his cloak was up, covering his face. He raised a hand to his face, speaking softly into something at his wrist.

"Target is headed home. Get the team moving. I'll be back in a moment."

He moved his hand back down as he finished speaking. For a brief moment, the tattoo of an eye was revealed on the back of his hand. Then, he too disappeared, with an ominous crack.


	2. Neighbourhood Witch

**Chapter 2: Neighbourhood Witch**

Harry shook his head in amusement as Dudley wolfed down his ice-cream. It was his second in half an hour. For someone who loved sport so much, Dudley ate an awful lot of junk food, and he didn't even have a magical metabolism to help him work it off. It was a testament to his dedication in keeping fit that he wasn't bordering on the obese by now. They had wandered down to the park for the afternoon, although by the time they got there, it was far too hot to even think about doing anything other than lounging in the shade. Harry had to admit though, there were worse ways to spend a summer afternoon. And the rest would probably do him good. He had not slept well last night, disturbed by nightmares once more. His last day with Parvati had not helped. And he needed to relax. He was supposed to give an official testimony to the Wizengamot in three days time, concerning the events in the graveyard.

Dudley popped the last bit of cone into his mouth, and leant back against the oak tree they were sitting under, stretching his arms out above his head. Harry was doing his best to ignore his awareness of the tree, but it was a constant presence in the back of his head. Fortunately, Dudley was in a talkative mood.

"It's too hot," his cousin complained. "How are you supposed to do anything in this heat?"

"Dudley, your favourite place in the world is the south of France; it's got to be twice as hot there as it ever gets here. How do you cope over there?"

Dudley shrugged. "I dunno. Too busy having fun, I guess. How do you cope at Hogwarts? I mean, you've got to wear those thick robes all the time, you must start to roast!"

"Sometimes, yeah. But we don't have to wear them all the time. And we can cool ourselves down with magic, obviously."

"I wish I could do that," Dudley remarked, enviously. Harry grinned at him, and closed his eyes, concentrating hard. His magic started to flow around his body, as he focused on the effect that he wanted. He had slowly started to learn that with wandless magic, you didn't need such specific spells as you did with a wand, but could achieve the same effect simply by thinking what you wanted. It seemed to work so far. His magic flowed down his arm, reaching his fingertips, and he spread them wide. A cool breeze sprang up, circulating around the two boys. Dudley blinked in surprise, and then sighed happily.

"Oh, that's much better! But won't you get into trouble for that? You're not supposed to do magic outside school, are you?"

"Not really, no. But I didn't use my wand – that's how they track it, a Trace spell on each wand sold. It cancels automatically when you turn seventeen. They can't track your individual magic though. They'd be called out every time someone had a bout of accidental magic otherwise."

"Good job then – they'd have just set up a tent in our garden a few years ago."

Harry tore some grass up and threw it at his cousin. "Oi, I wasn't that bad! I just… had trouble getting to grips with it."

"Heh, remember that time you turned Dad's hair green before an important meeting?"

"Oh, don't remind me!" Harry groaned as Dudley sniggered. "I was grounded for a week!"

"Yeah, but he laughs about it now."

"True," Harry admitted. He grinned to himself. It had only been Vernon who had been angry, even at the time, and although he had grounded Harry, he hadn't blamed him particularly. He knew his nephew hadn't done it deliberately. And his moustache had looked rather fetching, Harry had felt.

Dudley chuckled again, and stretched out more. He darted a tentative glance at his cousin. "So, have you heard from Parvati since she left?"

Harry shrugged. "She owled me a letter, let me know she'd got there, that she misses me. Not since then though. I sent Hedwig back, caught her up on the news from here. I've no idea when I'll hear from her again though."

"But you will, right?"

"I don't know. I mean, she's in India – it's not like I can pop over at the weekend for a few hours, is it? And she might never come back; even if she does, it's going to be a couple of years, at least. Voldemort won't just roll over and die."

"I guess… At least you'll have plenty to take your mind off it though," Dudley pointed out, in optimistic tones. Harry snorted derisively.

"Yeah, exams and the prospect of fighting a war at the age of fifteen, on the basis that a psychotic Dark wizard wants my head on a stick. Whoop-de-fucking-do."

Dudley grinned. "Well, when you put it like that… Ok, at least it'll keep you in touch with normality, with what non-celebrities like us have to live through."

Harry turned to look at him, affecting a plaintive expression. "Can't I keep in touch with happy normality though?"

"Nope," Dudley replied, shaking his head sadly. "You're a hero. It's your duty to live a life of misery."

"Really? Where'd you get that from?"

"T.V and comic books."

"Can't fault that wisdom, certainly."

"Absolutely." Dudley nodded seriously. The cousins looked at each other for a moment, and then started laughing.

"You're an idiot Dud, you know that?"

"Hasn't done me any harm yet!"

"You sure about that?" Harry asked him, reaching out to rap his knuckles on Dudley's head. His cousin pushed him away, laughing.

Their conversation turned to more everyday topics, with Dudley filling Harry in on all the local gossip he had missed in the last term at Hogwarts. They occasionally waved to people they knew, friends of the family, or members of their respective sports clubs. Mrs Figg had been getting into trouble about her cats again; they seemed to be at least partly feral, and would scratch anyone who went near them, except their owner. Harry had privately wondered if the creatures were pure cats – they often seemed to have enough cunning to be at least part Kneazle, like Crookshanks. Finding out the truth of this would require talking to Mrs Figg though, and that was always to be avoided when possible. As his aunt put it, Mrs Figg wasn't crazy, she just had a different view of the world.

A few hours passed, and the weather was turning. Clouds had been approaching for a while, and the heat had disappeared, even away from the cool breeze that Harry had stirred up. When the first drops of rain started to fall, they climbed slowly to their feet, stiff from lying still on the hard ground for so long. Still talking away to each other about nothing in particular, they started to make their way home. At first, the rain was welcome; the heat had lessened, but they were still hot and sweaty, and the water was very refreshing. However, the rain picked up quickly, until they were running for the shelter of the subway, pulling up the hoods of their jumpers as they did so. They skidded to a halt in the subway, leaning against the wall. Harry had to push his dripping hair from his eyes, and he made a mental note to get it cut soon.

"Bloody rain. It was such a lovely day," Dudley grumbled, peering out from their cover. Harry stared at him.

"Dud, not two hours ago, you were complaining about it being too hot!"

"And?" Dudley seemed genuinely confused, and Harry shook his head despairingly. He looked round, reading the graffiti. There was a flicker of light at the corner of his eye, and then it dimmed. He looked over, and saw that one of the lights at the other end of the tunnel had gone out. As he watched, another one flickered and died. Then another, and another. As each light died, he could _feel _something, as if his magic was reacting to someone else's spell. He reached into his pocket, grasping his wand.

"Dud?" he whispered, trying to get his cousin's attention discreetly.

"Yeah? Hey, what's up with the lights?"

"Dudley, stay behind me, ok?"

"Harry, what – "

Dudley cut himself off as the remaining lights died with a crack, sparks dropping from a couple. The tunnel was cast into blackness, and Harry drew his wand swiftly, aiming in front of him. He let his magic spread out, trying to achieve what he had managed back in the graveyard. There, he had been able to feel the Death Eaters surrounding him by their magic. If this was an attack – and it certainly seemed that way – then he might be able to sense any attackers before they could hurt him or Dudley. It was harder than he remembered, but he could feel faint traces of magic, getting closer.

Two balls of light suddenly fizzed into life, a few paces in front of Harry, casting shadows everywhere. Three people, dressed head to toe in grey, stepped out of the shadow, their wands drawn. They had cloaks with hoods covering their faces. They stood facing the two boys, but did nothing else. Harry aimed his wand at them, but did not attack. They weren't dressed like Death Eaters or Knights…

"Harry James Potter?" one of them spoke, a woman's voice, although that didn't necessarily mean anything. Such things could be changed, relatively easily.

"Who wants to know?" Harry replied, with a confidence he did not truly feel. The last time he had duelled anyone, it had been Voldemort, and Harry had been beaten black and blue. The three people in front of him were not going to be as powerful or as skilled as the Dark Lord, but there were three of them, and he didn't know how good they were.

"Our names are not important, nor our ranks. And we know that you are Harry Potter. There's no point denying it," the woman spoke again, not unreasonably. Her refusal to identify herself set alarm bells ringing in Harry's head though.

"_Hex first, ask questions later, when they're tied to a chair and can't fight back. They don't look like they're here for a civilized chat!_"

Harry ignored Titus, for the moment. He couldn't afford to be distracted. "Ok, so you know who I am. Well done. What do you want?"

"We want you to come with us."

"Sorry, but I was brought up not to talk to strangers," Harry replied. He started to back away, kicking Dudley into motion.

"We don't want to hurt you Harry, not if we don't have to."

"Now you see, you were doing well until the 'not if we don't have to'. Because that suggests you will hurt me if you have to, and I don't particularly want to be hurt."

"Then come with us."

Harry pretended to consider, as he and Dudley stepped out from the tunnel. "Well… No. Dudley, run! _Coruscus!_"

A shower of blindingly bright sparks flew from his wand, scattering themselves in front of the three grey clad figures. They cursed, swiping their wands around to clear the air, and Harry and Dudley turned on their heels and ran, heading back towards the park. Harry figured that they had chosen the subway because it was deserted, that they wouldn't be so eager to attack in a public place. He risked a look back over his shoulder. The three people had gone.

There came a loud crack in front of them, and Dudley cried out. Harry looked back in front of himself, and ducked a bolt of red light. One of them was standing in the road, wand stretched out, and tracking Harry. He dived behind a postbox, looking over at Dudley.

"What did you do to him?"

"He's just stunned, don't worry. Like I said, we don't want to harm you." The woman was speaking calmly, trying to soothe him. He ignored this.

"You've got a funny way of showing it!"

"You were the first one to cast magic, Harry."

"Three people show up, refusing to identify themselves, and ask me to go with them? With an implicit threat of harm if I don't? Sorry lady, I've had too much experience to go along with that! How stupid do you think I am?"

There was no answer. He risked looking round the corner of the postbox, but the woman was no longer standing there. The street seemed to be deserted. Harry looked back at Dudley, debating whether to wake him up. He was more likely to get hurt if he was awake and running around, and while he didn't trust the woman one iota, he had to admit that Dudley didn't appear to be injured, and was breathing easily. He left him unconscious, and turned back to the matter at hand. He couldn't see any of them, but he perhaps didn't have to rely on his vision. He let his mind wander back to his magic, stretching out around him, looking for the tell-tale feeling of someone's magic. There was someone to his left… he stuck his arm out, and pushed his magic through his wand, feeling it expand as it left the tip in a flash of red light.

There was a thud as someone hit the ground, but no other noise. As the figure fell, his head appeared, the hood falling from his face. The cloaks apparently had invisibility charms on them, ready to be activated whenever the wearer desired. That made things a little more complicated.

"Well done Harry! You're talented, clearly." The woman, again.

"You know who else likes to talk during duels?" Harry shot back. "Evan Rosier and Voldemort. You're in great company!"

"Don't you dare compare me to those animals!" She sounded angry now, and Harry grinned. Angry people made mistakes, as he had learnt to his cost. Also, referring to Voldemort and one of his second-in-commands as animals was probably a good sign. At least if they won, he was unlikely to be facing an imminent death by prolonged torture. Still, that was no reason to give up.

"Well, you won't tell me who you are, so I have to make my own deductions. What can I say, I've learnt to look on the dark side of life."

The only response was a sizzling noise, and Harry leapt away, yelping, as the postbox dissolved, melting away to form a puddle on the street. The letters inside it caught fire, wafting smoke over the street. A bolt of light zipped towards him, and Harry slashed it away with his wand, before staggering as something hit him hard in the small of his back. He stumbled to his knees, throwing himself down and to the side. Two more spells hit the ground where he had been, leaving a small crater. Harry rolled to face the other direction, casting a spell with a broad motion. A conjured stream of paint shot out of his wand, splashing all across the street, and hitting something he couldn't see. Grinning to himself, he snapped off another spell, and whatever it was burst into flame. He was rewarded with a cry of pain, and the sight of someone tearing a smouldering cloak from their body, throwing it aside. Harry quickly leapt to his feet, and darted behind a parked car.

One down, one he could see, and one in hiding. Not bad, but could be better.

"Come on Potter, be reasonable. There's no way you can beat us. It's two against one!"

"I've survived worse, believe me. And the police'll be here soon, you're not exactly being discrete, are you?"

"Harry, we're professionals," she said, with amusement in her voice. "Do you really think we wouldn't take precautions? Look at the houses."

Harry risked a glance over his shoulder. Something was shimmering at the windows and doors of the house behind him. Some form of Notice-Me-Not charm, he assumed. That was clever. Annoying, but clever. He cast a _finite_ at the house, but nothing happened.

"If you think that would work, you're not as smart as they say Harry. Like I said, we're professionals. _Carpe!_"

The car he was sheltering behind jumped into the air, suspended by magic, and spells began to pepper the ground around him. The man he had set fire to was still visible, and Harry reacted accordingly; a striking spell that punched him backwards against a car. The window shattered, and the car shook, but there was no noise. He stared, but his view was cut off by the levitated car slamming back to the ground, once again without a sound. Harry swore to himself. His three attackers had gone to some lengths to ensure they would not be disturbed.

He scurried back down the road, keeping an eye on the two fallen attackers. The one he had slammed into the car was probably down for the duration, but it suddenly occurred to him that the one he had stunned could be revived easily. He shot a spell at him, aiming just below his head, and the rest of his body was revealed as the cloak was ripped from him. At least Harry would be able to see him now. As if the woman was reading his mind, the moment the cloak fell away from him, his eyes fluttered, and he pushed himself to his feet. He reached out to grab his cloak, but a twitch of Harry's magic set it on fire. The man glared in Harry's direction, and reached for his wand again.

"No. Get out of here, take number six with you. I'll clear up here."

The man did not look happy, but he obeyed his orders, clasping his fallen colleague's shoulder, before disappearing with a crack. In the middle of the street, there was a shimmer, and the woman appeared, the magic on her cloak cancelled. She started to walk forward, matching Harry's steps back.

"I've got to admit Harry, you're doing better than I expected. But you will be coming with me, one way or another. That's just how it is. _Discrimino!_"

The car Harry was crouching behind split in two, falling apart in front of him. As he gawped, shocked, another spell shot through the newly created gap and smacked into his chest, throwing him back against a wall. He hit it hard, and the breath was slammed out of his lungs. He jabbed with his wand, sending a streak of light at his opponent, but she batted it away carelessly, before snapping off a Binding hex at him.

"_Protego! Sagitto maxima!_" He blocked her ropes, before firing conjured arrows at her. She cut one into pieces as it flew, but another struck her shoulder, and she recoiled, crying out in pain. Harry pressed his advantage, lunging forward with his wand flashing. She could still move hers quickly though, and sparks flew as spells were knocked aside, clashing in mid-air. Harry had to roll away when she used a favourite trick of his against him, sending an almost solid wall of flame roaring towards him. He thanked his lucky stars for Muggle fashion; if he had been in robes, they would have caught fire as they billowed behind him. He took cover behind another car for a moment, catching his breath. The side window above him shattered as a spell burst through it, showering him with glass. He popped up for a moment, firing off another spell, but one got through, catching his arm hard. He fell back, crying out as bones cracked under the impact.

"Potter, you're coming with me, even if I have to break every bone in your body to take you!"

Harry ran out from behind his car, heading to the other side of the street, and trying to encase her in ice as he ran, his broken arm clutched held tight against his stomach. She slashed his stream of magic in two, and cast two more spells at him. One clipped his cheek, tearing his skin, and the other hit his leg. He started to go numb, and the effect was spreading. He quite literally threw himself behind the car, and growled as he heard her chuckle.

"This isn't some sporting duel against a spoiled Pureblood Potter! This is for real, no rules here!"

Harry frowned at the reference to Jedgar Darrow. It had hardly been a sporting match; Darrow had committed suicide over the result. But she did have a point. There weren't any rules. He moved away from the car, a 4x4, supporting himself against the wall at the side of the road.

"You're right. Think fast!"

He pushed as much magic into the spell as he could, and the 4x4 sprung into the air, catapulting in the woman's direction. Harry winced as she cried out, and there was a definite impact between metal and person, even if his attackers had made sure there would be no excess noise. That had to have hurt. The only noise though, was a soft crack of apparation. Harry struggled to his feet, tapping his wand to his leg in an attempt to stop the numbness spreading any further, and creating a splint around his broken arm. He would look up the proper healing spell when he got back home, he had it somewhere.

He dragged himself over to Dudley, awakening him with another tap of his wand. His cousin woke slowly, as ever, his eyes bleary.

"What… What happened? Hey…" He looked around, staring in shock at the devastated cars. "Seriously, what did you do?"

"We should probably get out of here before anyone looks out of their window. I'll tell you about it on the way back." They set off back to Privet Drive, Harry leaning on Dudley. He looked behind him as they left.

Who the hell were those people?


	3. Meeting the Politicians

**Chapter 3: Meeting the Politicians  
**

Harry's vision was blurred by the time they got back to the house, his pulse flattening out. The pain was coming back, and he couldn't move his left leg or arm. Dudley hammered on the door, unable to reach his keys. There was activity inside the house, and the door swung open.

"Dudley, Harry – Oh God, what happened? Come on, get inside…" Petunia practically pulled them inside, making Harry grunt in pain as she grabbed his broken arm. "Oh, I'm sorry – come on, sit down. Do you want an ambulance? The police?"

Harry grinned slightly. "I don't think the police would have any idea what to do, if I'm honest. It wasn't exactly a clean crime scene… And no, I don't need an ambulance. I've got books upstairs with the healing charms in, I can do it myself."

"Petunia, what – bloody hell!" Vernon dropped his paper to the floor, hurrying over to them. "What happened to the two of you?"

"Nothing happened to me dad, I don't think so," Dudley reassured them, and Vernon squeezed his shoulder tightly.

Harry shook his head. "You were stunned, but other than that nothing happened to you. It was me they wanted. A witch and two wizards; other than that, I've no idea who they were. They cornered us in the subway, trying to get me to go with them. We ran for it, and then they attacked us on Swinburne Avenue. I knocked out the wizards, but the woman was tougher."

"How'd you get away from her then?" Dudley asked, breathlessly.

"I threw a car at her."

His family stared at him, and he shrugged. "Seriously."

"Well… Is she alright?" Vernon enquired, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, self defence, clearly, but…"

"She was well enough to apparate away, and I don't think she's going to report me, under the circumstances. She'd have to explain why I was attacking her."

"Hold on…" Petunia was looking confused by something. "You were throwing cars around in Swinburne Avenue, at six in the evening, and no-one noticed? That's impossible!"

"Whoever they were, they'd taken precautions. They'd put some kind of spell all over the street; there was no noise when I threw the car, or when they cut one in two. No alarms, no disturbance… It was like they'd stopped time or something, but I'm fairly sure that's impossible."

His aunt looked like she was going to say something about this, but instead, she jumped as someone knocked, hard, against the door. Harry drew his wand in a flash, slipping from his seat. He tried to stretch out with his magic, intending to see if he could recognise the person knocking, but his head started to spin, and he hurriedly abandoned the attempt. He had exerted himself more than he had thought, clearly. The residents of number four looked at each other nervously, and then Harry sighed, sheathing his wand.

"We're at Privet Drive, aren't we? You can't find the house if you want to cause harm to any of us, I think it's probably safe to open the door…"

He left the Dursleys in the lounge, making his way to the front door, which shook as the knock was repeated.

"Harry! Harry, are you in there? Harry!"

Harry grinned, and opened the door, to reveal Remus and Peter, who instantly whipped their wands out, aiming at Harry. He jumped back, drawing his own quickly. Remus replaced his wand, sighing loudly.

"Merlin Harry, be a little more careful; we could have been anybody!"

"I thought nobody could get here unless they meant me no harm?" Harry responded.

"That's the theory – but theoretically, you should be dead several times over by now, shouldn't you?" Peter cut in, turning to look around the neighbourhood cautiously.

"Thanks Pete. Good to see you too," Harry commented sardonically, and Peter flashed him an apologetic look.

"Sorry, but you know what I mean." The two Marauders hurried through the door, and Harry closed it after them. They had gone into the lounge, and were greeting his family swiftly, but pleasantly. Remus turned to Harry as he walked in after them.

"Harry, what the hell happened? Dumbledore's at the Ministry, trying to calm them down – they want to arrest you for breach of the Statute of Secrecy!"

"What? I was defending myself! Dudley and I were attacked by three… Well, I don't know who they were. They didn't dress like Death Eaters or Knights, and they didn't try and kill either of us. And they went out of their way to make sure they wouldn't be noticed, I can't see Death Eaters doing that, they'd revel in the chaos…" Harry trailed off as he mused on his attackers identity.

Remus and Peter looked at each other, clearly worried. The possibility of there being a third side in the war was disturbing, to say the least.

* * *

Harry had to admit, the visitor's entrance to the Ministry was wonderfully impressive. The ornate gates were carved into the shape of griffins, rearing up on their hind legs, and when someone approached them, the heads suddenly became animated, turning to look down at them. They almost felt alive, to him. After a moment, the gates swung open, admitting them to the lobby. Harry walked through, with Remus and Peter following him. The lobby was a master-class in ostentation; marble floors and walls, with an enormous fountain as the centrepiece, water shooting from the wands of the witch and wizard seemingly carved from gold. The water bounced as it hit the pool, jumping back up for a moment, before falling down to swirl around the statues. The witch and wizard were surrounded by magical creatures; a house-elf, a centaur, and a goblin – the socially acceptable face of non-human magic. It did not seem accurate to Harry, based on his limited experience. Certainly, the awed expression on the centaur's face did not fit with how Hagrid talked about them, and he would take Hagrid's word over the Ministry's in a heartbeat.

There were huge banners hanging from the ceiling, covering some office windows, which depicted Cornelius Fudge, looking as desperately serious and trustworthy as he could manage, which wasn't that much. He would have been better without his green bowler hat, which just looked ridiculous. Dumbledore was waiting by the fountain, humming patiently to himself. He smiled as the trio approached.

"Good morning Harry, and how are you this fine day? Remus, Peter, good morning to you as well, of course."

The Marauders nodded politely as Harry greeted Dumbledore. "I'm ok sir, I guess. Still a little stiff after the other night, but otherwise ok. That guy from the ministry was an idiot, but he did a good job patching me up, I'll give him that."

"Yes, I was disturbed to hear about that Harry. Are you absolutely certain that you can recall nothing that might help identify your assailants?"

Harry shook his head ruefully. "I'm sorry sir, I told Crais everything I saw. Quite what he'll do with that information, I don't know – it wasn't exactly an intensive questioning. It seemed a little suspicious to me, I have to say."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry, you're getting paranoid in your old age! Seeing conspiracies everywhere – Alastor would be proud!"

"Paranoia doesn't have to be inaccurate though, does it?"

"Well, no. And sadly, there is an ulterior reason behind the somewhat tame questioning. Of course, you shouldn't ignore the fact that you were being questioned by Magical Law Enforcement, as opposed to the Aurors, and that is a very different proposition Harry. Also, under-age magic is not quite as serious as possible murder. But yes, they had orders not to be too harsh on you."

"Why?" Harry asked, confused.

"Because you are the Boy-Who-Lived, and we are at war against Voldemort – most of the public, whether consciously or not, views you as his natural nemesis. For the Ministry to arrest you on such a minor charge as under-age sorcery would be political suicide at present. And I'm sure that Fudge will try and get a favour from you in return. Be on your guard."

"Oh, I will sir. Thanks for the warning," Harry responded, scowling. He didn't like the dirty side of politics at the best of times, having been the victim of it before. To be mired in the game, even unwillingly, revolted him. It did clear up the matter of his questioning though. An officer of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had arrived to investigate, while his colleagues cleared up the debris from the battle. He had taken the information, and a copy of Harry's memory of the fight, and then shrugged the whole thing off, almost as irrelevant. It had been confusing, worrying, and annoying. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He felt Remus' hand on his shoulder, and he turned slightly, smiling gratefully at the gesture of support.

"He'll be lucky to succeed, Albus," Peter commented, coldly. Ever since Harry had been kidnapped, Peter had been much more protective. Harry wasn't entirely sure whether he would be able to tell the difference between Peter and Mad-Eye Moody these days.

"Oh, I will do everything in my power to prevent him doing so myself, Peter, don't worry about that. But I fear we are running late, and punctuality is always important, wouldn't you say? If you would all follow me…"

Dumbledore stood up, and walked off, his rather vibrant robes sweeping behind him. Harry and his guardians followed him, lingering slightly as they took in the opulence surrounding them. The fountain didn't look any better close up, but Harry felt he could have coped if it hadn't been for the magic pouring off it. It washed over his body like the tide, filling his senses and making his skin tingle. He stumbled, but Peter's quick reflexes saved him from embarrassment, as he grabbed him by the arm.

"You alright Harry?" Peter asked him, looking down in concern. Harry flashed him a quick grin.

"Fine, just tripped over my feet. Wasn't looking where I was going…"

Peter frowned, but didn't say anything. Harry hurried onward, cursing whatever it was that was happening to him. So far, he hadn't explained Dumbledore's theory to Remus or Peter – largely because he hadn't quite accepted it himself yet, although he was working his way towards it. Certainly, he had no other explanation for what was happening. It wasn't totally normal for someone to get absorbed in the essence of the magic coming off a statue, after all.

Dumbledore had come to a halt by a lift door, and was waiting patiently. The doors pinged open as Harry caught up with him, and they trooped in. Immediately, Harry knew that the lift was powered by magic – which was obvious, in the Ministry for Magic – but he could feel the magic that powered it pressing around him, a claustrophobic sense of pressure. He clenched his fists, staring straight ahead and trying to ignore it. He did not need this, not right now. As the lift journeyed downwards, there was a brief shudder, and Harry felt his body compressing, as if he was using the portal from Diagon Alley to muggle London. He could tell that the others felt it too, and that Remus and Peter, certainly, had not been expecting it. Dumbledore, however, remained perfectly serene.

They emerged into a much less elegant part of the Ministry, yet no less impressive. Harry could, once again, feel the magic of the place invading his senses, filling his core with wonderful sensations, but more than that, he could feel the age of the place. He could feel time, swirling around them. This place was old. Older, possibly, than the Ministry itself.

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries, all of you. We are currently deep underground, deeper even than the Gringotts vault. We have passed out of the 'extension' of Diagon Alley; we are now back in the 'real' world, deeper than the Muggles have ever explored. The Ministry was founded on top of this spot, as one of the oldest magical sights in Britain." Dumbledore led them along, talking as he moved. "It has been used for all kinds of purposes over the centuries. Currently, it is the base of the Unspeakables, who you may know Harry, research obscure branches of magic, and examine magical artefacts. And, of course, the Wizengamot meets here, as and when required."

Harry nodded grimly. He wasn't looking forward to meeting them, but it had to be done. He had heard rumours about the Unspeakables, none of them entirely pleasant. Certainly, Sirius had despised them, mainly because they had constantly been badgering him for access to his family home and vaults, to examine the artefacts contained within. They had been a constant source of difficulty and annoyance to his former godfather.

Actually, thinking about it, perhaps the Unspeakables weren't that bad after all.

After a while though, Harry tuned out Dumbledore's history lesson. He was concentrating on his surroundings – there was something very familiar about them. But he knew that he had never been here before. As they walked through the corridors, the sense of the magic of the place kept encroaching on him, flooding his body. It almost felt like the magic was searching him out. Certainly, it took a great deal more effort of willpower to push it to the back of his head.

They were approaching a vast set of doors, wood with wrought iron designs on them. They hummed with magic, and Harry felt another wave of dizziness as they opened wide.

"_You need to get this sorted Harry. Hogwarts will be a nightmare if you don't, you do realise that don't you?"_

"Quite well thank you Titus, yes. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"_I don't worry about anything._"

"Liar."

Harry did his best to sober up as they walked through the doors. The sight that greeted him did more than he could ever have managed to instil seriousness in him though. The doors came to rest, with a thud, against stands of seats that loomed above the group, casting much of the room into shadow. Opposite the doors, raised above even the tall stands, there was a separate pillar, bathed in light from hundreds of floating lanterns, containing balls of luminescent magic. On top of the pillar were about fifty seats, occupied by wizards and witches in scarlet robes. They were sitting in silence, and they all seemed to be gazing ominously in the direction of Harry and the others.

Dumbledore halted in the middle of the cavernous room, waiting patiently for Harry and the two Marauders to gather around him. When they were all stood together, chairs materialised out of the ground, and Dumbledore sat down gracefully, gesturing for them to follow his example. Harry reclined in the chair, but nearly jumped out of it when the chairs suddenly rose up into the air. He looked down, and clung onto the arms of his chair; they appeared to be floating in the air, although he couldn't see how – even the most advanced levitation spells would result in some kind of wobble, and they were perfectly stationary. Harry wrenched his gaze away from the stomach churning drop, and focused on the people sat in front of him.

The Wizengamot. Ordinarily, Dumbledore would have been sitting with them, but as Remus had explained to him, the headmaster had stood down. He needed to be out in the field, not stuck in the Ministry – and these days, Fudge wouldn't make many decisions without checking Dumbledore's opinion on the matter, so he still held the same power, just unofficially. It worked out best for everyone involved. Harry had assumed that, since Dumbledore had been a key member of the group, they would be a fairly well-balanced organization. A quick scan revealed a familiar face though, which cast his assumptions into doubt. He leant over to whisper to Dumbledore.

"Umbridge? What's she doing here? She's not on the Wizengamot is she?"

"Fortunately not Harry, or the political situation would be very, very different," Dumbledore replied in tones that could, to a careful listener, have contained shades of contempt. "She is still Fudge's Under-Secretary, although of course, that grants her a great deal of power."

Harry sat back, disgruntled. He had almost forgotten about the existence of Delores Umbridge; it had been two years since he had last seen her, after she had 'investigated' the Chamber of Secrets. In reality, she had achieved little except arresting Hagrid, despite his obvious innocence. She had also attempted to tar Ginny as deliberately assisting the Heir of Slytherin, instead of viewing her as a victim. Her fanatical belief in the Light made her dangerous, in her own little way. He was suddenly feeling a little more apprehensive about this meeting.

His thoughts were interrupted by Fudge rising to his feet, drawing everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, Headmaster Dumbledore, Master Potter… Welcome to this meeting. We are here to review Master Potter's testimony regarding the events of the 20th June, 1994. Before we begin the questioning, we shall examine his memories of the evening."

With a flourish, Fudge cast a spell, the stream of light disappearing into the gloom high above them. Nothing happened for a moment, and then Harry felt as if he was plunging upwards, in defiance of gravity, until he came to a sharp halt. Looking around himself, he found that he was back in the graveyard. This time though, Remus, Peter and Dumbledore were standing around him, and the large crowd of the Wizengamot was also present. This was some variation on the magic of a Pensieve, he realised.

He watched in silence as his memory-self came crashing to the ground, before being thrown into a duel against the Carrows. He watched, unblinking, as Rosier appeared, holding the deformed Lord Voldemort in his arms. He watched, flinching, as Amycus Carrow slashed open his chest with a dagger. He watched, clenching his fists so tightly that he thought he would crack a bone, as Sirius Apparated in, taunting him about Neville's death. He watched, appalled, as Voldemort was reborn, and proceeded to take Harry almost to the brink of death. He watched, fascinated, as his magic clashed with Voldemort's, until something exploded from his body, dramatically altering the balance of power in the memory. He watched, grimly satisfied, as he proceeded to escape with both his life and that of Caradoc Dearborn, Voldemort's prisoner.

As the memory of Harry vanished into the Floo system, they were cast out of the memory, dropping back to the floor. They reappeared in their seats, as if they had never left. The whole process was effective, but rather disorienting. Harry was still recovering when he felt someone squeeze his shoulder tightly. He looked behind him to see Remus, distress written across his face plainly. He had heard the details, of course, but this was the first time that he had seen what had happened in the graveyard. Harry smiled ruefully at him. There wasn't much he could do or say to make it seem more pleasant than it had been.

Amongst the members of the Wizengamot, Fudge stood up, his expression serious. "Before we continue, I would like to take this opportunity to express my admiration for your skill and bravery, Mr Potter. Your efforts that night were in the finest traditions of wizardry, and you are to be commended for them." He started clapping his hands together, and the Wizengamot followed suit, the sound of their applause bouncing off the walls. Harry wriggled in his seat uncomfortably, both flattered and embarrassed by the praise. It wasn't as if he knew what had happened, really.

The applause died away as Fudge sat down, and questions started to pour forth from the mass of politicians. Harry did his best to answer them: No, he did not know if there was any reason beyond power for Voldemort to focus specifically on gaining his blood. No, he did not know how long Barty Crouch Junior had been a spy for Voldemort. No, he did not know how many members there were of the Knights of the Dark Lord. Yes, he knew that Caradoc Dearborn had long been regarded a traitor, but he felt no regret in bringing him back.

"And nor should he, sir." Dumbledore spoke up, reprimanding the last speaker softly. "Mr Dearborn has been exonerated by this very court; we know full well that he was framed by Sirius Black."

Harry felt another twinge of rage and sadness at the mention of his former godfather. He still hadn't fully reconciled his desire for revenge with his reluctance to kill again. He didn't know if he ever would. His thoughts were derailed by Umbridge climbing to her feet, a sickly smile on her face.

"Hem hem… I wonder, Professor Dumbledore, if Master Potter could perhaps explain precisely what he did to dispel the Priori Incantatem effect that we saw? It was no single spell, I know that – most curious."

Harry felt himself tense up instinctively. Based on past experience with her, he knew that Umbridge had a tendency to assume that unfamiliar magic was Dark. If she could view Ginny Weasley as a Dark witch for being possessed, Harry was sure that she would have no problem making the same claim about his unusual magic. Dumbledore turned slightly, placing his hands behind his back as he looked at Harry. If he gave any indication as to what Harry should do, it went over Harry's head. He stood up slowly, walking to the front of their stand, and placed his hands on the rail. He did his best to look honest.

"I'm afraid that I don't really understand what happened Madame Umbridge. Some form of accidental magic, maybe? A wizard's magic does act in self-defence sometimes, after all. Of course, the Headmaster may have some more theories, I don't know." As Harry sat down, Dumbledore winked at him, approvingly.

"I am sorry to say that I am also rather regrettably ignorant about the affair Madame Umbridge – although rest assured, I have been, and will continue, to investigate it thoroughly."

Umbridge sat down, but she did not look happy. The inquisition carried on briefly, but all the major questions seemed to have been asked and answered, and it gradually tapered off. Twenty minutes later, and Harry was making his way out of the chamber, guided by the Minister himself.

"Terribly sorry to inconvenience you like that young Harry, but it had to be done, protocol you know…"

Harry was delighted to note that Remus was unable to stop himself rolling his eyes at this point. Fudge was well known for a lax approach to protocol, when it suited him. Fudge didn't notice this though, and carried on talking, going so far as to place a companionable hand on Harry's back. Harry scowled, but said nothing. He followed Fudge into the lift, Remus, Peter and Dumbledore following them, and it started to rise.

"There is one further thing that I would like to discuss with you, if that's alright? It won't take long, don't worry, just step into my office for a moment."

Harry shot a quick glance around his companions, and shrugged. "If you insist Minister."

"Excellent! Ah, this is our stop…" The floor the doors had opened on was largely empty, but it was glorious. Golden light shimmered from the wall, and runes were carved into the ceiling. There was only one door, which Harry assumed led to Fudge's office. It was guarded by two men in the distinctive blue robes of Aurors, and an attractive young woman sat at a desk just off to the side. She looked up as Fudge approached.

"Minister, the Bulgarian Ministry has been trying to reach you, they want – "

"Not just now Glenda dear, I've got some business to attend to. I'll call them later."

If the bad grace with which this news was greeted was typical, Harry surmised that this was a frequent occurrence. He wondered whether Fudge knew that his secretary didn't like him, or whether he was oblivious to it. As she threw the document to the side, she noticed something, and picked up a note. Her subsequent smile was rather grim and vindictive.

"Oh yes Minister, there was one other thing – Silas Tulliver is on his way up to see you, he wants to discuss something important."

"What?" Fudge snapped irritably. "Oh, fine, but he'll have to wait until I've finished with Master Potter here."

The secretary looked up at Harry's name, and their eyes met. Harry was the first to look away, blushing intensely. Behind him, Remus and Peter sniggered. Glenda winked at him as they trooped into Fudge's office behind him. Fudge sat down, leaning back with his legs crossed, looking very pleased with himself.

"It's good to see you so well Harry, especially after the other night. Let me assure you, the Ministry is doing everything we can to apprehend your attackers."

"That's a great comfort to me Minister," Harry responded, deadpan. Fudge didn't notice.

"However, there have been questions asked about your use of magic… Why you didn't, for instance, summon assistance? You had to use magic, we accept that, but surely it would have been better to have sent a message spell to Mr Lupin, or Mr Pettigrew – even the headmaster, perhaps?"

Harry shrugged. He could see where this was going. "Well minister, as I'm sure you know, you don't always think clearly in such situations. I wasn't really thinking, just reacting. Looking back, of course I realise I could have done things differently, but at the time – well, as I said, you understand, I'm sure"

"Oh, naturally, naturally my boy!" Fudge blustered. "It was, nevertheless, an extensive breach of the Statute for Secrecy, and some people are pushing for repercussions, shall we say?"

"It wasn't a breach of the Statute, Minister. Harry's attackers went to great lengths to ensure that no Muggles would witness the attack; even Harry's cousin, Dudley, was stunned, and he has known of magic for his whole life."

Fudge glared at Dumbledore, who simply smiled serenely. "I know that, Dumbledore, we all know that. But you know what people can be like!" His tone took on a slightly wheedling tone. "They don't understand that the spirit of the law is what's important, not the letter. I've had to do a lot to smooth things over with the hardliners and – well Harry, you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, hmm?"

Harry quirked his eyebrow, affecting an expression of surprise. "You want me to do a propaganda piece, or something?"

"That was, more or less, the idea, yes." Fudge seemed pleasantly surprised that Harry had caught on so quickly.

Harry shrugged. "The Ministry hasn't yet done anything I'd want to lend my support to, to be perfectly honest. If that changes… Well, then I might reconsider. Now, I'd better get out of your way, wouldn't you say? I know you're very busy."

Fudge glowered, but did nothing to stop them leaving. As they left the office, Harry nearly bumped into an imposing figure; bulky, but he looked powerful. His face was marred by an ugly, pale scar, which ran down his cheek. He thrust his arm out, grabbing Harry's wrist.

"Do watch your step boy, you could cause an accident!" He turned slightly, bending at the waist in a mild bow. "Dumbledore, good to see you, as always."

"Tulliver," was Dumbledore's only reply. But Tulliver was scanning the other two members of the group.

"Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew – that must make you Harry Potter, hmm?"

Harry did not immediately reply. There was something about the man that made him distinctly uncomfortable. But he nodded, slowly. Tulliver smiled humourlessly, and finally let go of Harry's wrist. Something caught Harry's eye. Tulliver had a tattoo of an eye on the back of his hand.

"Nice to meet you Potter. I've been taking an interest in you for a while… Very interesting." Tulliver seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment, and then he shook his head briskly. "Can't stop around here chatting all day though. Good day to you all."

He swept into Fudge's office without waiting to be announced. Dumbledore stared after him, shaking his head. "Not a terribly pleasant person, but he does his job I suppose."

"Who is he Albus?" Remus enquired. "I didn't recognise him at all."

"Silas Tulliver – he's the head of the Department of Mysteries. But don't worry about him. You'll probably never even hear of him again, let alone see him."

* * *

**A/N:** see book 4, chapter 23 if the last section is confusing.


	4. The Order of the Phoenix

**A/N:** Sorry it's a bit late - I forgot it was posting week, in all honesty. Next chapter is ready to go, and I'll post that in a fortnight. After that...not sure. I haven't even started chapter 6, and it's essay time again - 10,000 words to research and write, which obviously takes priority. I'll doubtless get some writing done, but I make no promises.

**Chapter 4: The Order of the Phoenix**

Lucius Malfoy stood at the window of his study, ramrod straight. The manor was almost silent, a bastion of calm and propriety. The only noise was Narcissa, who was playing the piano downstairs. A rare smile crept across his face as he heard his wife start to sing. The song was unfamiliar to him, but he didn't need to know what it was that she was singing. His musical knowledge extended only so far as acknowledging that his wife was a talented musician. She was famous for it, in the circles they moved in, and she rarely attended a dinner party without being pressed into service as an after dinner entertainer, a duty she happily discharged. She did enjoy the attention.

And of course, being known primarily as Lucius Malfoy's wife and after dinner musician to her friends did mean that people tended to underestimate her.

He wondered how many of the people who would soon be joining them would make the same mistake. Not all of them, certainly, but a few most definitely would. That said, knowing which people were going to be there tonight made his blood boil at the thought of his ancestral hall being besmirched so badly. With this thought, he snapped his fingers. There was a sharp crack behind him, and he turned to issue his orders to the snivelling creature before him.

"We will have guests tonight Dobby. Fetch a recent wine; I don't want my cellar wasted on these people."

"Of course master, Dobby is most happy to serve sir, the '23 sir?"

"Yes, that will do. Now get out – wait, a glass of brandy."

"Immediately sir!"

Dobby vanished with another crack, and Lucius scowled. House-elves; probably the most irritating creatures on the planet, but they were admittedly useful. It was a shame that Dobby seemed to be so idiotic though. It was getting tiresome, having to punish him all the time. It really wasn't that hard to get their ironing done properly. The little creature reappeared, a glass of brandy in its hand, and Lucius took it without a word, turning back to the window. Dobby disappeared again, and Lucius smiled in satisfaction. At least the little beast knew its place.

There was movement in the garden below him, and he watched idly as the first of his guests approached. As they got closer, he recognised a few of them, and his brow creased in consternation. He turned his back to the window, his robes swirling behind him, and he marched out of the room, working himself up to a fine fury.

"Narcissa!"

His wife turned from her music as he burst into the dining room, her still beautiful face marred with confusion. He waved the brandy glass at the window. "Have you seen who that old fool is bringing with him? Fletcher!"

Narcissa frowned as she tried to place the name. "Fletcher… What, Mundungus Fletcher? The sneak thief?"

"The very same! As if muggle-lovers weren't bad enough, he has to bring a street-dwelling squib here!"

"Lucius, you know perfectly well he isn't a squib," Narcissa admonished him, lightly. "And you've used his services in the past perfectly happily."

"Yes, but I've never brought him to my home! And he might as well be a squib, he can barely point a wand, let alone cast a spell correctly." Lucius sighed, and drained the brandy in a gulp. Narcissa shook her head in amused exasperation.

"Better a street-dwelling thief than an angry Dark Lord, wouldn't you say my dear?"

"Yes, yes, I know." Lucius scowled as he heard the arriving guests enter the hallway. "Shall we go and greet the great unwashed then?"

"Lucius, you've always known how to charm a lady." She took his hand, and they walked out to greet the assembled members of the Order of the Phoenix.

* * *

In a lane about half a mile away from Malfoy Manor, the peace and quiet of the cool summer's evening was disturbed by two sharp cracks, easily recognisable as Apparation. Harry let go of Remus' hand as the after affects of Apparation faded, and he shifted his bag more comfortably on his back. Peter drew his wand in a smooth movement, and muttered a spell under his breath. Harry felt magic wash over him, an effect that quickly faded.

"Anything?" Remus enquired.

"Nope, just us. Let's go."

They set off at a leisurely pace for the Manor, with Remus and Peter watching the path carefully. Harry felt they were likely being paranoid, but he couldn't really blame them. He still had questions though.

"I still don't get why _Lucius Malfoy_ is playing host to the Order? I know he's not a Death Eater, but he's not exactly a supporter of muggle rights, is he?"

"No he isn't, not in the slightest. But he's not fighting in this war out of a desire to protect muggles…" Remus paused, trying to marshal his thoughts. "You know that he was placed under the Imperius curse during the last war, right?" Seeing Harry's nod, he continued. "Well, the reason he was placed under the Imperious was because he withdrew his support from Voldemort. When Voldemort first started making a name for himself, most people thought he was just another anti-muggle racist. But, obviously, there were a few people who thought he could be more, and a few who were just happy to throw themselves behind anyone who wanted to kill muggles.

"Malfoy hates muggles, he's a Pureblood supremacist of the worst sort. So when a self-proclaimed Dark Lord appeared with an anti-muggle agenda, he was happy to go along and have some fun. As Voldemort slowly became more powerful, so Lucius was even happier to support him – not only was he having some fun, but now he stood a real chance of gaining some serious power as a result. But then, Voldemort started killing Purebloods who stood out against him, and Malfoy didn't like that. He might despise the Weasleys, but he wouldn't kill them, because they're Purebloods. He sees their bloodline as too valuable to kill off, and Voldemort was wiping out entire families, entire bloodlines. He began to realise that Voldemort wasn't really interested in furthering the Pureblood cause, he just wanted power for himself, and spun some useful rhetoric to get it. And when he found out that Voldemort was a half-blood…"

"I can't imagine he took that well, no," Harry commented.

"Exactly. He'd risked everything for a half-blood, who had taken advantage of that trust and abused it. Voldemort doesn't care about his followers, not really. Values the help they can give him – he knows he can't do everything, after all – but so long as he comes out on top himself, he doesn't care what happens to those who help him. Malfoy felt like he'd been betrayed, so he turned away from Voldemort – but Voldemort didn't like that. You don't get to quit, once you've taken the Mark, and of course, Malfoy brought money and a certain amount of prestige to the Death Eaters that they could use. So he put Malfoy under the Imperius curse, and forced him to obey his wishes. Fifteen years later, and Malfoy bears something of a grudge against Voldemort."

"So… He isn't fighting him for anyone else, he's fighting him because – what, because he wants revenge?"

"Essentially, yes. That and honour. Never forget honour, when it comes to Purebloods Harry. Malfoy's sense of honour might be a rather twisted one, from our perspective, but it's still there, and he will _not_ betray his principles. Ever. If Voldemort had left the Purebloods alone, you'd probably end up facing Malfoy across a battle-field, but as it is, he's an ally, albeit one who doesn't particularly like us. He would never fight for Voldemort after what happened the last time, and he knows that he'll be a target this time. As for why the Order is meeting at his Manor – well, pretty much the only other places better protected than Malfoy Manor are the Ministry and Hogwarts; the Ministry is obviously unavailable, and we can't risk making that more of a target than it already is."

They walked on in silence for a while longer, Malfoy Manor looming over the hedges in front of them. It was an impressive sight, and reeked of wealth.

"If Lucius Malfoy did support Voldemort, even if he changed his mind…" Harry trailed off, thinking it through himself. Remus and Peter stayed silent. "Even if he turned away, he must have done some horrible things. So he must have either given the Ministry valuable information, or there was no evidence to say he'd ever done anything voluntarily."

"That's right – well, a bit of both, actually. He was able to identify a couple of spies in the Ministry, although never Purebloods, and he's got gold to splash around. And there was never anything to link him to the Death Eaters that couldn't explained away by him being under the Imperius curse," Remus explained, smiling approvingly down at Harry.

"Lucky him," Harry commented. He'd never really liked Draco's father, although he would admit to a certain amount of respect, but this information… Who knew how many Muggles Malfoy had killed? Who knew what damage he had done? "Do we really trust him?"

"We trust him not to work for Voldemort, certainly," Peter cut in, breaking his vigilant silence. "And he's too intelligent not to realise that the Ministry will be hampered by the incompetence of many of its leaders. You don't have to like someone to work with them Harry, just think of Snape."

"Do I have to?"

"Only when strictly necessary, don't worry."

"Awesome." Harry turned back to Remus. "Aren't you worried about tonight at all though? I mean, Lucius doesn't even like half-bloods, and you're…"

"A half-breed, I know." Remus winked down at Harry. "I'll just have to take solace in the fact that he'll be so distracted by the taint I leave on his manor that he won't sleep properly for about a week."

They all sniggered at this thought, as they approached the gates at the edge of the manor. Their way was barred by wrought iron gates, but as they drew nearer, the bars twisted and shaped themselves into a mouth, protruding out towards them. Harry grinned at the familiar sight, which always brought about a rush of nostalgia to him; it had been one of the first examples of Transfiguration he had ever seen, several years ago now. Remus spoke his name, and the gates swung open, silently. They strolled along the path, Harry's gaze idly taking in the shaped hedge sculptures, which always puzzled him. For someone who was so often described as the Slytherin ideal, Lucius Malfoy seemed to have an obsession with big cats and birds of prey.

Remus knocked on the door, and it swung open to reveal Dobby. The house-elf bowed deeply to them, and Harry waved at him as they walked into the mansion. Dobby's ears pricked up.

"Greetings Harry Pot… Harry!"

Harry grinned. "Hey Dobby. Good to see you haven't forgotten."

"Dobby would never forget anything Harry Potter told him!"

"That's quite enough of that Dobby!"

Harry looked up from the effervescent elf to see Draco approaching, looking as close to casual as he ever did. He smiled at Harry, and gave a formal bow to Remus and Peter.

"Mr Lupin, Mr Pettigrew, good evening. Dobby will show you the way to the meeting, and then you can take Harry's bag to his room, understand?"

"Thank you Draco. Good to see you again," Remus responded politely, his lips quirking in amusement, while Dobby nodded fervently, his eyes bulging.

Harry studied his friend as Remus and Peter followed Dobby. Despite his relatively casual appearance, the blond was looking more serious than usual – rather like Percy Weasley, actually. Harry thought it wise to keep that particular notion to himself though. Draco extended his arm and shook Harry's hand.

"Good to see you Harry. Father told me about twenty questions with the Minister. Must have been fun."

"Not especially, no," Harry shrugged, not really wanting to discuss the matter. "What's been happening with you? You've not been exactly talkative."

"Sorry about that." Draco started to walk off, beckoning Harry after him. "Father's had me pretty busy; I'm fifteen now, time to start learning about the estate."

"Sounds riveting," Harry commented, not meaning it. Draco shot him a disapproving glance, but then nodded.

"I'll admit, I'd rather be playing Quidditch or something, but it's important stuff. I need to know it for the future. It's an honour, really."

"If you say so – but things like this make me glad I'm not nobility. I can't see my life's work being my stock folio." Harry grinned at Draco's irritation, but said nothing more.

"What else have you been up to? Everything ok?" Draco tried to make the question sound casual, but his expression betrayed him. There was a rare touch of concern on his face.

"I've been fine. Bit dull really, aside from getting attacked. Got a few things to show you all though."

"And… Neville?"

"I'm _fine_, Draco," Harry lied. Draco did not look convinced, but let the matter drop.

* * *

Dobby disappeared with a crack as Remus and Peter walked through the open door to the Malfoy's dining room. Remus looked round with an appreciative gaze; the room was exquisite. The eclectic mix of people in the room seemed out of place, to say the least. Aside from Lucius and Narcissa, only Dumbledore looked at home in his surroundings. Moody of course never looked at ease anywhere, and this was especially true of a dark wizard's dining room. His magical eye was focused balefully on Lucius, apparently watching for the slightest misstep. Dumbledore looked up at the Marauder's entrance, breaking off his conversation with Emmeline Vance and smiling at them.

"Remus, Peter, welcome! It's good to see you. Are you well?"

Remus nodded with a smile, and Peter grunted. Remus sighed as his old friend sank into a spare chair. Since Voldemort's return, Peter had become even more introverted than normal, retreating into the attitude he had adopted during the last war. He fervently hoped that Dumbledore would not recruit Peter as an assassin once more; he wasn't sure that Peter would survive this time. As Remus took his own seat, Dumbledore stood up, and raised his arms for silence.

"Welcome, all of you, to this first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Some of you have fought alongside each other before, some of you are new to the cause. There are even members who have fought against us, previously."

Remus couldn't help but glance at Lucius Malfoy as Dumbledore spoke. The Pureblood Lord's expression betrayed nothing about what he might be feeling, but Remus could smell the emotions coming off him. Malfoy was not exactly happy about the arrangement. Remus was also aware of the numerous gazes slipping towards Snape, who was sitting in a corner of the room. While arguably more widely trusted than Malfoy, the Potions Master certainly wasn't popular.

"You are all aware of the situation. Voldemort has returned, and he is preparing for war. Thankfully, the Minister is showing rare sense; the Ministry is gearing up for war, but I'm sure we're all aware of its deficiencies. The Auror corps have been dramatically cut since the end of the war, and those that remain are for the most part of average skill. Consequentially," and Dumbledore looked around the assembled wizards and witches, "we are once again gathered to stand against the darkness."

Lucius Malfoy shifted in his seat, and cleared his throat pointedly. Dumbledore looked at him and smiled.

"Present company excepted, of course."

"Naturally," Malfoy sniffed.

Dumbledore turned back to face the Order, his expression grim once more. "Make no mistake. The coming months – maybe years – will be dangerous. People will be hurt. People will die. If you are not wiling to totally commit yourselves to the struggle, then you should leave now. After this meeting, there will be no going back."

Mundungus Fletcher shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but did not stand up. Everyone else remained completely still. Dumbledore beamed at them, a blend of pride and gratitude in his eyes.

"Then let us begin."

* * *

Harry staggered backwards as Hermione flung herself at him in her customary greeting. He hugged her back with a smile, before they separated. Behind her, he could see Ron, who waved at him. In fact, all the Weasley children were there. Ginny flashed a grin at him, before turning back to the twins, who were poking at something with their wand. Harry gave it a wary look, and decided to keep his distance.

"What're you all doing here? Doesn't your mum trust you on your own?" Harry asked, looking at Ron.

"Would you trust any of them?" Hermione commented with a playful grin, and Ron glared at her.

"It's not that she doesn't trust us, she's just paranoid. She's convinced that if she lets us out of her sight, we'll be zapped by Death Eaters. It's bloody annoying, I can tell you!"

"Maybe not wrong though…"

There was an uncomfortable silence at Harry's words, and he winced, wishing he could take them back. Nobody seemed to want to address the sentiments behind them though. The silence was broken by a hissing from Fred and George's corner of the room. They looked over to see something bubbling from the table, and the twins looking rather shocked. Draco leapt to his feet.

"For Merlin's sake, that's an eighty galleon carpet!"

"Draco, if you're spending eighty galleons on a carpet, then it _needs _to be destroyed. Have you no shame man?" Fred turned casually to the blond boy, flashing his teeth in a grin. George smirked, but flicked his wand to clean up the mess. Draco examined the carpet carefully, and turned away with a grunt, apparently satisfied.

"Come on then, you said you had something to show us. Don't leave us hanging Harry!"

"Yes, I haven't had a peep out of you all summer!" Hermione commented, poking Harry in the shoulder. "What's been happening?"

Harry shrugged. "A bit mixed, to tell you the truth. Parvati broke up with me."

"Oh Harry!" Hermione threw her arms around him again, knocking him off balance. He sank into a chair and reclined, stretching his legs out.

"That sucks mate. What'd you do?" Ron asked, sympathetically.

"Why do you assume I did anything? No, her parents decided they were all going back to India. Scared of what might happen if they stay here. Can't exactly blame them I guess." Despite himself, Harry could not prevent a touch of bitterness flavouring his words.

"Well, the rest of your time must have been better, right?" Hermione said, forcing a smile.

Harry grinned. "Well, three people trying to kidnap me isn't my idea of a better time, but whatever floats your boat I guess."

Hermione stared at him, momentarily speechless. "What?"

"Like I said, I was nearly kidnapped," Harry repeated. "Well, they tried to insist I came with them, and resorted to attacking me and Dudley when I objected. Same thing really."

"But I thought your house was protected from Death Eaters!" she exploded.

"The house is, yes, but this wasn't at home. Sirius had ready access for nearly fifteen years; he presumably hasn't damaged the wards, or Voldemort would already have come knocking, so I'm feeling pretty safe there. And of course, I don't think they were Death Eaters. Or Knights for that matter."

"Then… who were they?" Ron cut in, looking confused.

"I have absolutely no idea. But they weren't dressed like Death Eaters or Knights, and when I made a crack about them being like Voldemort, they didn't like it."

"Did they hurt you?" Ginny asked quietly.

Harry looked over at her, touched by the concern, and gave her a comforting grin. "Not as much as I hurt them, believe me."

Draco snorted. "Yes, father saw the report. I gather you held your own quite nicely. Shame about the property damage, but still."

Harry shrugged casually. "What can I say, I kick arse."

"God, you're such a _boy_!" Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes.

"If you've only just noticed that, you really do spend too much time reading, Hermione!" Harry responded with a wink. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. For a moment he relaxed, basking in the joyful feeling of being among his friends once more. He knew he would have to make the most of it while he could. But he'd promised to show them something, and that couldn't wait any longer. With a sigh, he leaned forward in his chair.

"Speaking of kicking arse, I have got a bit more to tell you all. And this doesn't go beyond this room, ok? Not even your families." He stared round them all as they nodded, looking particularly intently at Draco. The blond boy scowled.

"I don't tell my father everything, Harry, you know that. Whatever it is, your secrets safe with me."

"Sorry, Draco. It's just…this is big, I think. It's about something Dumbledore told me at the end of term." Harry trailed off, trying to put his thoughts in order, and his friends grouped round him, their interest caught. Harry took a deep breath, and began to explain. "Ok, for a start, do you remember what a sorcerer is? We learnt about them in History of Magic in third year."

"Haven't a clue. Sorry," Ron informed them, and the twins nodded in agreement.

"Do you honestly think we paid attention to Binns, Harry?"

Harry didn't bother answering George's question, but started to explain. "Basically, they're supposed to be the people we're all descended from. Sorcerers came first, they were…made, I guess. What were they called…"

"The Shining Ones," Hermione interjected, practically bouncing. Harry grinned at her.

"Yeah, that's it. The Shining Ones apparently 'made' these sorcerers, and then let them do their own thing. Of course, their own thing turned out to be not quite towing the party line; I'm not entirely sure what happened, but it ended up in a war, and Binns told us that the Shining Ones took magic away from some of the sorcerers as a punishment."

"Thereby creating Mud…Muggles," Draco murmured.

"That's the idea, yes," Harry nodded, ignoring Draco's near slip for the moment. "Eventually the sorcerers all die out, and they haven't been seen for thousands of years. Sounding familiar?"

"Vaguely, yes," Ron agreed. "Wasn't there a bloke called Tamuz somewhere along the line?"

"That's right, he was the first one or something."

"Harry, while I'm obviously thrilled to see you've learnt something in History, what's this got to do with you now?" Hermione was displaying all the confusion Harry had expected from them, in addition to worry. As if she might have an inkling of where Harry's story was going.

"Dumbledore reckons I am one."

They all stared at him. Then Draco burst out laughing.

"Ok, I admit, you got me going. Nicely done Potter."

"I'm serious Draco. Dumbledore thinks I'm a sorcerer." Harry's deadpan tones sobered Draco up quickly.

"Seriously? But… that's insane. How does that even work?"

"Beats me," Harry shrugged. "I don't even know if I believe it or not."

"Dumbledore wouldn't lie to you, would he?" Hermione asked, staring at Harry in something like awe.

"I don't think he'd lie to me, but he could be wrong. I mean, like Draco says, this sounds insane! He thinks I'm the reincarnation of a bunch of people who are half myth; why would they suddenly reappear? Why me, for that matter?" As he spoke, Harry stood up, beginning to pace the room. Not for the first time since Dumbledore had explained his theory, doubts began to play through Harry's mind.

"Fair point, but he must have some reason for believing it – evidence of some sort?" Hermione suggested, shifting into research mode with barely a blink.

Harry sighed. "A fair amount of it, yes. I don't know… it all sounds convincing when he explains it, but when I think it over myself…"

"Well, what is his evidence?"

So Harry took them through everything that Dumbledore had told him in June; his skill with transfiguration, the history behind the title 'Mighty One', his affinity with unicorns. Talking about it genuinely seemed to help. As he finished speaking, Harry wouldn't have described himself as a firm believer, but he felt a little more accepting of the whole idea.

"It could be true you know," Ron commented thoughtfully. He looked surprised as the group's attention focused on him, and he shifted in his seat. "Well, take the whole transfiguration thing. In the first task, you transfigured a rock into a bloody dragon; that's not even the stuff of legend Harry, there's nothing like that even in children's stories! Beedle the Bard didn't even write anything like that, you know."

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "Just because no-one's ever been stupid enough to put such a strain on their magic before Harry doesn't mean they couldn't."

"Thanks for the support Draco," Harry replied wryly.

"Well, we all know you're reckless – it's pretty much your defining characteristic, yes? But seriously," Draco continued, his smile vanishing, "Advanced Transfiguration is just that; there's nothing unique about it, you're just…better."

"I dunno Malfoy, I've seen how good Harry is at Transfiguration – he's better than anybody in our year for sure." The serious look on Fred's face didn't suit him, his lack of familiarity with the emotion obvious.

"Being better than slightly older school kids doesn't make you a mythical being Weasley!"

"Draco." Harry's voice cut the argument off before it could start, and all eyes turned to him once more. "Wandless magic. Tell us about that."

"I…well, really powerful wizards can sometimes do very basic spells, with years and years of training, but it's not easy – almost impossible. Why?"

His eyes meeting Draco's intently, Harry raised his hand, palm up. He focused his will and his magic, as hard as he could, and _pushed_. Something inside him began to glow, warming his bones and his blood, and it began to pulse down his arm to his hand. The more he focused, the more he became aware of how widely the sensation flowed; his whole body echoed with it, fainter than in his raised arm, but still noticeable. The feeling in his hand intensified, and he grinned slightly.

And then his palm started to shine.

This was a trick he had first pulled off nearly a year previously, and that he practised whenever he could, so it wasn't as if he was instantly mastering a spell. But the first time he had managed it, the glow had been akin to a candle. Now his palm was shining like a floodlight, and getting brighter by the second. He let the light flare for just a few seconds, let it blaze brightly enough to blind him, and then snuffed it out. Blinking rapidly, he looked round his friends. Their collective expressions made him grin.

"Harry, you… you can do magic without a wand? That's insanely difficult, how the hell are you doing that?" George cried out.

"Difficult, not impossible. Sure, he's doing it at a freakishly young age, but that still doesn't make him a sorcerer," Draco butted in, cutting Harry off before he could say anything.

"To be fair Draco, you're right. But I'm fairly sure this isn't so easily explained away…" Turning away, Harry reached into his rucksack, and withdrew a small freezer bag. Inside the bag were the roots of a flower. He tipped them into the palm of his hand, and again held his hand out to them. They focused on him again, their anticipation building. Again, he focused, pushing at his magic. It was getting easier to do this – the last month or so, he had progressed more with wandless magic than he had since his first attempts the previous winter. He felt his magic flow through him, a comforting sensation, and then it sparked against the roots in his hand.

The roots twitched, and changed. Not dramatically so; this wasn't a Transfiguration of any sort. They merely changed colour, in a subtle fashion – looking healthier. At the head of the roots, where they clumped together, a shoot burst out, and rapidly grew, twisting and turning, sprouting leaves and petals, until Harry held a perfectly formed tulip in the palm of his hand. All grown without access to sunlight, water, or earth.

His friends looked at him, their eyes wide, and Draco smiled.

"Looks like you're pretty special after all."


	5. Fun in the Sun

**A/N: **Aiming for a bit of character stuff here. Not sure how successful it is, so let me know! Also, I have no idea when the next chapter will be up. It is underway, by which I mean I've written one line of it... So yeah, keep an eye out. I'll get it done as soon as possible though.

**Chapter 5: Fun in the sun**

_Harry looked around the corridor, intrigued. He instantly recognised his surroundings; the Department of Mysteries, outside the courtroom he had visited a few days previously. Merlin only knew why he was dreaming of it. But something was telling him to explore. He strolled through the Department, noting that there seemed to be fewer doors and corridors than he had seen. In fact, they all seemed to have gone. It was just one seemingly endless corridor. _

_As he walked, he gradually became aware of a faint whispering, the words unintelligible. He stopped for a moment, listening intently, but couldn't make it out. He set off again, his shoes clacking against the smooth stone floor. The corridor twisted and turned, and the whispering grew louder, but still incomprehensible. Harry stopped again, focusing on the whispering once again, and realised that he couldn't understand it because it wasn't English. It wasn't any language that he recognised, for that matter. Not that that narrowed it down particularly; Harry spoke English, Parseltongue, and the fragments of Latin and Runes that he had picked up for use in magic. He was certain of one thing though: no human tongue ought to be able to make those kind of sounds._

_He set off again, beginning to feel nervous. The Department of Mysteries was certainly living up to its name. The corridor went on forever. Even though he knew he was dreaming, his feet were beginning to ache by the time a door came into view. It was not one he had seen before his audience with the Wizengamot. This door was…dull. It was just a simple stone door, with a pockmark in the corner._

_Harry frowned, and looked closer. It wasn't a pockmark, it was a carved detail. It was an eye. The same design that Silas Tulliver had tattooed on the back of his hand. Harry reached out, trailing his fingertips over the carving. It radiated magic. And something about it made Harry desperate to find out what was behind the door. _

He woke up.

Strangely, the whispering continued for a lingering moment, although still in the strange language. Harry rubbed his eyes, sitting up and looking around. Nothing unusual caught his eye; Ron was fast asleep, his sheets tangled around him and his mouth open as he snored. Hedwig was perched in her cage, her head tucked under a wing. A perfectly ordinary night at the Burrow.

Harry shrugged, rolled over and went back to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he only vaguely remembered the dream.

* * *

Harry smiled softly and folded the letter, replacing it in his pocket. It had arrived a couple of days previously, and he found himself reluctant to leave it in his room for the present. It was only the second letter Parvati had sent to him, and he still read it whenever he had a quiet moment. While such times were rare in the Burrow, this was one of them. Ron had been roped into helping his parents with the dishes. The twins were doing…something in their bedroom. Harry didn't really want to know; the curious odour was enough to dampen his interest. Ginny and Hermione were getting ready for an arduous day of fun. For two girls who didn't wear make-up except on special occasions, they still took an age to get dressed – a mystery Harry felt certain he would never understand, even if he were to drink all the Wit-Sharpening potions in creation.

He picked up a copy of the _Prophet_, glancing at the headline then throwing it aside with a snort. Another page of drivel about self-defence. While Harry applauded the sentiment, he felt it would be better if they actually printed something useful. Having a secret question was all well and good, but rather redundant in a world that had the Imperius curse, or Veritaserum. At least they were trying. He leaned back on the settee, stretching his legs out across the messy carpet. For all Mrs Weasley's efforts, there was no stopping the mess that six teenagers could conjure up when they tried.

His brief moment of peace was disturbed by the arrival of Hermione and Ginny, who were giggling at something. They bounded over to Harry, taking seats next to him on the settee.

"And what's so funny?"

Ginny grinned evilly. "Hermione's been teaching me about feminism."

Harry groaned theatrically and looked at his friend. "Did you have to? She's going to be insufferable now!"

"No she won't, we decided it would be better to save it for the next time we see Malfoy," Hermione responded, chuckling quietly.

Harry paused for a moment, considering this, and a wide smile spread across his face. "Ok, I'll give you that. Just make sure I'm around to see it, ok?"

"Of course. Any change in the news from Padma?" Hermione asked.

"Huh? Why?"

"Well, you've been reading that letter again – it might have changed between readings, you never know."

"How do you know I was reading it?"

"You've got that smile on – it's easy to tell," Ginny told him, with a grin. Harry blushed slightly.

"Easy? How?"

"Harry, you practically glow. It's kinda cute actually."

Harry stared at the redhead accusingly. "I thought you didn't do cute – too girly or something."

Ginny shrugged. "True, but would you prefer adorable?"

After a moment's consideration, Harry nodded. "Cute's a bit manlier isn't it?"

"A little," Hermione said, not looking convinced. Harry glared at her, and she stuck her tongue out in response.

"What are you talking about?" Ron had appeared, and was looking very confused by the whole affair. Harry looked over his shoulder at him.

"I'm trying to convince them that being cute is manlier than being adorable. It's not working."

Ron blinked a few times, and shook his head. "Right… You're all mental. Pick-Up Quidditch, that's manly. You coming?"

"Quidditch is manly? What about when us girls play?" Ginny did not sound amused, although there was a distinctive quirk to her lips. It vanished at Ron's reply.

"We play better than you. Common knowledge, isn't it mate?" He looked at Harry for support, and Harry raised his hands defensively.

"Hell no, I'm staying out of this. You can fight this one on your own."

"You're not scared of her are you?" Ron asked incredulously.

Harry looked Ginny up and down, sizing her up and considering his response carefully. Then he looked back at Ron and nodded. "Yeah, little bit. Aren't you? The amount of blackmail material she must have about you…"

"Harry, I'm far too nice to do something like that!"

Harry shot her a sceptical look, and she pouted playfully. Hermione shook her head at their antics, and pulled the _Prophet_ towards her. As Harry had done earlier, she scoffed at the 'advice' on self-defence, but then turned to the inner pages.

"Are we playing Quidditch or not?" Ron spoke up, a little irritably.

Harry looked up. "I'm game, you know that. But it's not exactly high on Hermione's list of priorities, right?"

Hermione looked up from the paper, and frowned. "Why not?"

"Hermione, you don't like Quidditch. You're famous for it."

She shrugged. "I'll bring the paper. And no, I don't, but I can admire your technique. You're very good at it."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and Ron started to grin. Hermione looked at them for a moment, confused. In response, Harry waggled his eyebrows meaningfully, and Hermione rolled her eyes, standing up and folding the paper. "You are disgusting little boys sometimes, you know that?" She turned to speak to Ginny, only to find that the younger girl was hiding her own grin. "And you shouldn't even know what they're getting at young lady!"

"Hermione, I grew up around the twins, and Bill and Charlie. I've heard more jokes about _expecto patronum_ than you can probably think of."

Hermione flushed scarlet, and Harry and Ron roared with laughter. Ginny leapt to her feet and hugged Hermione. "You'll get used to it. Now, Quidditch? I believe I need to show Ron that you don't need to be manly to be good at it."

Harry followed his friends out of the room, still sniggering to himself. It was good to be able to relax, he mused.

* * *

Later, after Ginny had proved that manliness was not a required trait in a Quidditch player, they were all stretched out in the corn-field not far from the Burrow, basking in the sunlight. Hermione had dozed off with the _Prophet_ draped over her face, and Ron and Ginny were bickering about something trivial. Harry was humming tunelessly to himself, listening to the magic in the field. It was alive, whispering through the sheathes of corn and singing to the sky, punctuated by the occasional throb of what Harry had identified as gnomes. He grinned to himself as he felt one such throb drift in the direction of the Burrow. The twins would doubtless be occupied with a de-gnoming before long. They were always fun to watch.

He let his senses expand further, still not entirely sure how he was doing it. He just…let it happen. While it was a pleasant change to have his magic totally under control, however consciously, it was also a little unnerving. At least with transfiguration and conjuration he knew what he was doing; he just happened to be extremely good. This was as instinctive as breathing. And wandless magic had been getting easier, on the few occasions he had practiced it since the end of term. Not instinctive, far from it, and he doubted he would ever be able to forgo his wand completely… But he now definitely had a sense of remembering how to do it, rather than learning it.

With a mental shrug, he brought himself back to the field. And he frowned. There was something…wrong, at the edge of the field. He sat up silently, looking in the direction of the wrongness. Nothing was immediately apparent, but he slipped his wand into his hand regardless. If nothing else, the attack the other week had taught him to always be prepared. He got to his feet, attracting Ron's attention.

"What's up with you?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just going to stretch my legs for a bit. Wait here?" Harry told him nonchalantly.

"Sure, whatever. Ginny, you're just wrong. The Cannons absolutely have a chance of winning…"

Harry walked off, unsure why he had lied. True, the wrongness didn't feel especially dangerous, just – well, wrong. But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. He let his magic well up inside him, ready to be unleashed at the slightest provocation.

"_You're paranoid, you know that? Moody'd be proud."_

Harry's heart skipped a beat as Titus chipped his thoughts in. He hadn't heard from him for a while. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you. I've got Voldemort and A.N. Other after me, for whatever reason. Paranoia seems a pretty healthy response to me."

"_Maybe. But I don't think there's anything dangerous over there. It would have attacked by now."_

"I'll test that theory for myself thanks." Harry didn't break stride, cresting a slight rise to arrive above a river bank. "Where've you been anyway? Haven't heard from you in days."

"_Talking to you gives me a headache._"

"Charming. You're scintillating company yourself."

"_No, really. There's a dull ache in my head everytime I talk to you now. Nothing crippling, but nothing I want to suffer needlessly, you know._"

"That's weird." Harry frowned in thought. "How can you get a headache? You don't have a head to ache with."

"_How am I supposed to know? Just telling you the facts._"

"Right…" Harry tailed off, looking around the riverbank. There was a road on the other side, the road that Uncle Vernon would take whenever he brought Harry over. And Harry realised where he was standing. Another quick glance round confirmed it, once he knew what he was looking for. A weeping willow, bent over into the river, a plaque attached with some initials carved into it. GP and FP. Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, Molly Weasley's deceased brothers. This was where they had died, brought down by a barrage of Killing Curses. They had been too powerful, too skilled to be killed by anything less. And now that he thought about it, Harry had always felt something wrong with this patch of river. He had always been able to feel something off about it, which he had come to believe was the residue of the Killing Curse. Now he knew it, knew it in his bones. He shuddered.

He turned to leave, but was struck by a sudden whim. Walking over, he stood before the weeping willow, studying it intently. He imagined, for one morbid moment, that Gideon and Fabian could hear him, might actually be there in some form, perhaps imbued into the tree that commemorated them. He reached out, and gently touched the bark with his fingertips.

"Nothing will happen to them. I promise."

The wind rustled in the branches, making the tree shake slightly, as if the brothers were making it nod in agreement.

"_Merlin you can be a miserable sod sometimes. Go on, go back to your mates. Have some fun while you can._"

Harry quirked his lips at Titus' admonishment, but didn't disagree.

There was a shrill shriek from where he had left his friends.

Almost without thinking, Harry was running back to them, gathering his magic around him. Hermione was kneeling, her back to him, and he couldn't see Ron or Ginny. Hermione yelped in surprise as he appeared by her side, looking up at him in shock. And no wonder: Ron was lying on the ground, spluttering from the water Hermione had been pouring over his face. Her own face was dripping, and Ginny was laughing to herself on the ground. They all looked at Harry quizzically.

"What's up with you?" Hermione asked slowly.

Harry flushed, sheathing his wand again. "You screamed. I thought something was up, but…"

"Ron just tipped some water over me, woke me up." She gave him a sad smile. "We're fine, Harry."

"Yeah, I – just a bit on edge I guess."

Hermione's confusion softened to understanding, and she beckoned him to sit down. "What happened to Neville won't happen again, Harry."

"You're damn right about that," Harry said shortly.

The other three looked at each other uncomfortably, but it was clear that none of them really knew how to respond.

* * *

The rest of the day passed awkwardly, Harry simultaneously embarrassed and irritated by his panic attack, and his friends uncertain about how to broach the subject with him. None of them really felt up to talking about Neville in any detail. It wasn't that the topic was taboo as such, just…uncomfortable. But by the time they all sat down for their evening meal, the matter had been brushed under the carpet, if not exactly forgotten. Mr Weasley was keeping them all laughing with tales of the bizarre creations he sometimes had to confiscate, the backfiring toilets being a particular favourite with the twins: something Harry found rather disturbing. He resolved to take precautions when using the bathrooms at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future.

It was as Mrs Weasley was serving pudding that the conversation took a turn for the controversial. The twins exchanged glances, and George leant forward in his chair, catching his father's eye.

"So, Dad… Fred and I were wondering what's going on with the Order at the moment?"

Mr Weasley hesitated, looking at his wife. Mrs Weasley had stopped ladling custard out, and had an unusually icy expression on her face. Mr Weasley cleared his throat, and sat back in his chair. "I'm not sure that's something we should be discussing boys."

"Why not?" Fred chimed in brusquely. "We want to help."

"Help? Well I… I'm not entirely sure you're ready yet boys."

"Yet? Arthur, what do you mean 'yet'?" There was silence at Mrs Weasley's exclamation; she was shaking with anger, and clutching her wooden spoon as firmly as any wand. "They won't be helping at all, they'll be staying safe and sound here or at Hogwarts!"

"Like hell we will!" Fred snapped, drawing stares from Harry and his friends. "We're of age, we're going to fight! It's not like he's going to ignore us is it? We're blood traitors, we'll be prime targets – not to mention that we're friends with Harry. No offense mate."

"None taken," Harry muttered. Fred was right, after all; anybody close to him was going to be marked.

"Oh, so that justifies you going looking for trouble? You're still just children, you can't go off fighting him!" Mrs Weasley slammed her serving bowl down, rattling the cutlery on the table, and glared at the twins. "If you think we're going to let you – "

"Molly. The boys are seventeen." Mr Weasley's calm tones cut through the rising tension like a knife. "If they want to join the Order, then there's nothing we can really do to stop them."

She stared at her husband in shock. "Arthur…" she began to say, betrayal dripping from her voice, but he cut her off.

"We can't stop them, but we can advise them. Boys," he continued, turning back to the twins. "I understand why you want to fight – admire you for it, even. But this war won't last for ever. If you don't finish school, what are you going to do when we've won?"

"When?" Harry couldn't help but ask, a little sceptical. He winced as Mr Weasley stared at him.

"Yes, when. I firmly believe we'll win this war, and then you'll need your N.E.W.T.s. Don't throw everything away in a fit of passion. Like I said, we can't stop you joining up, but I'd be disappointed if you did at this stage."

Fred sat back, looking contrite. Harry thought it likely that the older boy hadn't really thought about the war in such terms, operating simply on righteous anger and maybe a desire for vengeance. Although it could simply have been an excuse to avoid exams. You could never tell with the twins.

Mr Weasley looked at Harry and the others over his glasses. "That does _not_ apply to you four. You are under-age, and you've no business trying to join up – and don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind Ron, Harry. I know what you're both like."

Harry looked at Ron out of the corner of his eye. They actually hadn't discussed it between them, but Harry had certainly had thoughts along those lines.

"Actually dad, you can't say that to Harry and Hermione," Fred pointed out.

Mr Weasley glared at Fred, but nodded. "Fair point. No, I can't – but that doesn't mean you should."

"Actually Mr Weasley, Dumbledore already said that he might make an exception for me. You know, under the circumstances."

The stares Harry's statement attracted suggested that he'd actually said "You know, the Dark Mark's quite nice as a tattoo, don't you think?" or "Evan Rosier, he's a great bloke really. Brilliant sense of humour."

"He told you he could join up?" Mrs Weasley asked, aghast.

"He said he'd think about it," Harry clarified. "But I won't be, at least not until I've taken my O.W.L.s. Voldemort might be trying to kill me in the meantime, but my aunt and uncle really would kill me if I dropped out without any exams to my name."

"So you're not joining up?" Mrs Weasley asked him.

"Not anytime soon, certainly." Harry took a certain guilty pleasure in the look on her face. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the concern, but Fred was right. It wasn't for the Weasleys to say what he did or didn't do. "But once I've finished this year, I'll certainly be thinking about it."

"Harry, you're just a boy…" Mrs Weasley whispered.

"So I should just wait around Hogwarts waiting for Voldemort to attack me again? He was trying to kill me before I escaped from him, he'll be trying even harder now. I'm not going to risk people's lives like that."

"Harry, he's not going to attack Hogwarts. Dumbledore's the only person he's ever been scared of, and there're plenty of defences all over the castle. He didn't try it at the height of his power, he's not going to do it this time."

Harry couldn't help but feel sceptical. Having felt Voldemort's power for himself, he wouldn't have put anything past the Dark Lord.


	6. The Sword and the Toad

**Chapter 6: The Sword and the Toad**

Harry shivered as the portal to platform 9¾ rippled around him, his senses tingling with the play of magic. He looked back at his aunt and uncle as they walked through the portal after him. They always looked a little out of place here; he loved them dearly, but whatever he thought of them they were firmly, resolutely _normal_. It was largely to do with the fact that Vernon always wore a suit – while many of the more Muggle-savvy wizards and witches had grasped the concept behind jeans and a t-shirt, present them with a suit and tie and it was as if they had been hit with a Confundus Charm. Ironically, the wizard who had seemed most comfortable in a suit, in Harry's experience, had been Barty Crouch Junior, a Death Eater. He didn't mention the comparison at home.

Vernon helped Harry onto the train with his trunk, stowing it carefully on a rack near the door, and they both climbed back off the train to say goodbye. Petunia enveloped Harry in a hug as he walked back towards her, and he smiled fondly, hugging her back. She took a step back, brushing his fringe out of his eyes by force of habit, and he ducked away from her, protesting weakly.

"Don't be silly, Harry, it looks so much nicer when it's not just hanging down like that."

"Maybe, but it never stays up for more than a minute or so. You know this, you know."

"I'm your aunt, I'm allowed to fuss over you."

"It's true, Harry. Just let her have her way, and life will be much easier for you," Vernon commented. Petunia smirked slightly.

"Experience telling you that, Uncle?"

"Of course not, Harry, I'm lord and master in our house, you know that. What I say goes!"

Harry nodded slowly. "Of course. Just so long as you believe it, that's all that's important. Take care, Aunt Petunia," he said, turning back to her and kissing her cheek affectionately. "I'll see you at Christmas, ok?"

"We'll look forward to it. And Harry…be careful this year, alright?"

"I'm always careful – it's everyone else who's careless!"

"Was that supposed to be comforting?" his aunt enquired. Harry considered for a moment.

"Yes. Needs a little work, doesn't it?"

"Something like that, yes," his uncle interjected. "Just – well, just be careful. Don't take any risks, don't go wandering off, don't do anything that might get you hurt."

"I'm at a school for magic; I can get injured in pretty much every class, never mind Quidditch!" Harry rebutted.

"Not the point, and you know it," Vernon told him with a stern glare. Harry sighed.

"Yes, I know. Sorry. And I'll be careful, aunt Petunia. I promise."

"That's all I can ask for," she said with a smile. "Well, that and amazing exam results, of course."

Harry winced. "You had to go there, didn't you? I'd almost forgotten them!"

"Harry, that's not a good thing…"

"I know, I know, I'm teasing you, Aunt Petunia. I haven't forgotten them, I'll work hard, and I'll do my best to set a new record of excellence in them. Ok?"

"Heh. At least he's ambitious, Petunia!"

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of the guard's whistle, announcing the imminent departure of the train. Harry gave his aunt and uncle another couple of quick hugs, and jumped onto the train. He turned back as the door closed behind him, waving at them. As the train started to move, on a whim he leaned out of the window to watch them; they gradually disappeared into the distance, wreathed in the steam from the train. Drawing back into the train, Harry picked up his trunk once more, and set off down the train to find his friends.

* * *

Harry suppressed a shudder as he walked past the Thestrals, and climbed into one of the carriages to the school. Reaching out his arm, he gave Ginny a helping hand up; she smiled at him gratefully as she sat down next to him, shivering. The weather had turned nasty, and they were all drenched. Once all four of them were sat down, and the carriage was moving, Harry drew his wand and cast a Warming Charm over them all with a wave of his hand. Ron sighed happily and stretched out, giving his friend a thumbs up in thanks.

"So, who do we think'll be taking Defence this year?" Hermione spoke up.

"How are we supposed to know? Probably won't be anyone from the regular staff; the only one interested is Snape, as far as I know, and he'll never get it at this rate," Harry responded with a shrug. "And if it's someone from outside the school, then we're not going to know them."

"I suppose not. Although I did think it might be an Order member. Get someone who can be trusted, and relied on if…if there's an attack."

Ginny flinched at the prospect of an attack, and immediately looked annoyed with herself for doing so. "We haven't heard anything about that at home, but that's no guarantee; mum's been making sure we can't find anything out. It's really annoying!"

"She's just looking out for you, Ginny. She doesn't want you to get hurt," Hermione said, reasonably.

"Well I think it's stupid. We're going to be targeted anyway, our whole family will be – why shouldn't we know what's going on? We should be able to help!" Ginny grumbled, folding her arms tightly.

"Ginny, take it from someone who knows: don't be in a hurry to get to the battlefield. It always sounds better than it actually is," Harry said to her, gently. She glared at him.

"I've been there as well, remember? Riddle possessed me!"

"You weren't fighting though, were you? You were lying around napping while I did all the work!"

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, and Harry grinned. A year or so ago, Ginny could barely stand to hear the Chamber mentioned; it was good that she was able to joke about it now, however obliquely.

Hermione shook her head at them, and returned to her musings. "I really hope we get someone decent this year. It is our O.W.L. year, after-all. How are we supposed to pass if we don't have a good teacher?"

"By letting you memorise the textbooks and spend so much time drilling it all into us that we end up seeing them in our sleep, I'd imagine," Ron said, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. "That's what I'm going to do, anyway."

"Oh well, that's fine Ronald. I'm glad you feel you can trust me to give you accurate information at all times," Hermione told him, surprisingly calmly Harry felt.

"Of course I can trust you Hermione!" Ron protested, and then looked at her carefully. "We can, right?"

Hermione opened her eyes wide, an exaggeratedly innocent expression on her face. "Certainly, Ron. Of course, I might be so exhausted from trying to teach you that I make mistakes, but that's ok, isn't it?"

"All right, all right, I'll look at the books myself. Happy now?"

"Indescribably, Ron, yes. Hold on, we're there. Come on, let's get inside!"

They jumped down from the carriage, and sprinted into the entrance hall as fast as they could, shaking the water from their sodden robes as best they could. This time, Hermione teamed up with Harry to cast the Warming Charm, and the twin blasts of hot air had them dried out in seconds. They filed into the Great Hall with the other students, waving at people they hadn't seen over summer, calling out in greeting to them. Harry sat down just in time; a wave of dizziness ran through him as something jolted through his nervous system, electrifying his magic. He clung to the table for support, and turned his head. Professor McGonagall was placing the Sorting Hat on a stool at the front of the Hall. He could feel the magic seeping out of it and he blinked, astonished. He'd always known that the Hat was a powerful object, but only intellectually. Now he _knew _it, down to his bones. He poured himself a glass of water, and drank it all down hastily, trying to cover his shock.

While the Hat serenaded them, Harry scanned the teacher's table for unfamiliar faces. He was surprised – and shocked – to find that he recognised them all. The only new face at the table was Delores Umbridge. He nudged Hermione.

"See that ugly woman, next to Flitwick?"

Hermione frowned at his description, but followed his gaze, and nodded. A flicker of recognition passed across her face, and she looked at him curiously.

"Have I seen her before?"

"Yeah, in our second year. Remember Umbridge?"

It took a moment for the penny to drop. "What, that foul woman from the Ministry? What's she doing here?"

Ginny and Ron were now looking at Umbridge as well. The squat woman was watching the Hat with a patronising smile, occasionally turning her gaze to the students. Harry couldn't help but notice a shudder of distaste go over her face as she looked at the Slytherin table, which surprised him for a moment. Some brief consideration answered his own question though; if she really did hate dark magic as much as she seemed to, then Slytherin House was pretty much the opposite of everything that she stood for, at least by reputation. He wondered how well she'd do at controlling the Slytherin portion of her classes.

Hermione had been explaining who Umbridge was to Ron and Ginny in an undertone, and as she finished, Ginny sat up straight and shot an evil glare at Umbridge. "So that's her. And she had the nerve to say _I_ was a dark witch! She doesn't exactly look nice herself, does she?"

"Nice doesn't always equal light, Ginny. But no. She looks horrible. I've got to say, she was a bit of a bitch at the hearing I had to go to over the summer; she was asking me to explain the magic I did in the graveyard. I got the impression she wanted to slap me with a charge of dark magic."

"Really? No, I can't believe that, it's too stupid, Harry!" Hermione said, looking sceptical.

"Too stupid? Hermione, they're politicians! I don't know what Muggle politics are like, but you don't need a brain here, that's for sure," Ron commented.

"Same for Muggles, Ron, Hermione's just optimistic. And fair enough, I don't actually _know_ she was looking for dark magic – but it felt like it, and given her past form…"

"Fair point…I wonder what she's doing here?"

Harry had been wondering the same thing, and had reached a nasty conclusion. "I can't see anyone else new…she couldn't be taking Defence could she?"

"But she's not a teacher!"

"Neither was Lockhart, but he got the job. What's to stop her doing it?"

"Merlin…they'll be fun classes won't they!" Ron exclaimed.

"No, I refuse to believe it. Dumbledore wouldn't let anyone so obviously bigoted teach here, surely?" Hermione declared.

The other three looked at each other, and simultaneously said "Snape?" Hermione scowled, but said nothing. They were silent for the rest of the Sorting, and as the last first year abandoned the Hat – Zuko, David, to Gryffindor – the tables filled with food. Harry smiled at the cries of wonder from the new first years, and helped himself to a generous helping of steak and kidney pie. There was a lull in the conversation while they all ate, and soon enough, Dumbledore was standing to deliver his welcome speech.

"Good evening to you all, and for our new arrivals, welcome to Hogwarts! The castle will be your home for much of the next few years, and within these stone walls you will find friends, joy, and possibly even a little education…if you're not careful."

A ripple of laughter went around the Hall at his words; Harry noticed that Umbridge's smile seemed rather forced. After a moment's pause to let the laughter die down, Dumbledore continued, looking more serious now.

"Many of you will already know about the political state at present; for those who have only recently joined our number, you may not have been made aware of the fact that we are at war. The world is a dangerous place to be right now…but Hogwarts is not. There have been security issues in the past, true. No longer. I make that my personal pledge to you: no harm shall befall you within these walls."

Harry shivered a little; it felt as if Dumbledore had somehow wrapped his magic around his words, reinforcing their impact, impressing them upon everyone who heard them. The Headmaster let his gaze sweep across the Hall, his eyes filled with forbidding power and an unshakeable confidence in his own power. For a moment, Harry believed him. But only for a moment. Never mind how much faith he had in the Headmaster, experience had made Harry a little too cynical to believe that the protections would be any more effective this year than they had for the last four.

"On a lighter note – although almost as important, obviously – I would like to welcome Professor Delores Umbridge to the faculty; she will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. I'm sure we which her great success."

There was a spattering of applause. Harry clapped his hands together once or twice, for show, before letting them fall. He couldn't help but notice that not many of the staff seemed that keen on her either. As Dumbledore segued into the usual start of year notices, Harry tuned the Headmaster out; he knew it all by heart anyway, and knew precisely how much attention he was going to pay to Filch's list of banned items. He closed his eyes briefly, and let his attention wander.

It was a mistake.

As the magical presence crushed down on his awareness, he wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. It was incredible, like a physical pressure on the base of his skull. Dimly, he realised that he was gripping the edge of the table as hard as he could, and his spine had gone rigid. And the magic wasn't going away, and now his own magic was stirring in response, curling through his body and down to his fingertips.

"_Harry!_"

The pressure vanished abruptly, and his mind cleared. He blinked the last of the fog away, and looked around. Hermione was looking at him with concern, and he smiled weakly at her. She looked down at his hands pointedly, and his eyes followed her gaze. Where his fingers had been clamped on the table, the wood had cracked and blackened. Ash coated his fingers as he removed his hands. He looked up and grinned, sheepishly. Hermione frowned, but turned back to Dumbledore.

"_Don't do that again._"

"Titus?"

"_Any other voices in your head? Of course it's me. Seriously, don't drift off like that._"

"What happened? What was that?"

"_Hogwarts. All the magic that's been cast in and around it over the last thousand years or so…well, it left an impression, I guess. I told you that you needed to work on this awareness stuff before you came back, but did you listen? Did you hell. Once you stopped concentrating on anything, it hit you between the eyes. So in future, concentrate!_"

"No worries about that, I'm not letting it happen again!" Harry declared. Then his face blanched as he had a nasty thought. "Titus, what'll happen when I go to sleep? I'm not exactly concentrating then…"

"_True. Well, judging by this…you'll lose control of your magic, set fire to your bed, and burn yourself alive. You'll have a public funeral – closed coffin – and Voldemort will throw a party in celebration._"

"Fuck you. What the hell am I going to do?"

"_Search me. I don't know everything._"

Harry swore to himself, and started to drum his fingers on the table nervously. He flicked his eyes towards the staff table once more, and realised that Dumbledore had dismissed them. Coming to a decision, he jumped to his feet with the others, but started off in the other direction, ignoring Ron's calls. Ducking through the crowd, he soon found himself next to Dumbledore, who was engaged in an animated discussion with Professor Flitwick. As Harry drew near, Snape shot a glare at him; Harry ignored it on principle, before realising that it seemed more pointed than usual. He looked back at the Potions Master, only to find him walking away, rubbing his forehead. Dumbledore broke off in mid-sentence, turning to Harry with a smile.

"Good evening, Harry. Did you enjoy the feast? The treacle tart was particularly fine tonight, I felt."

"Yeah, it was great sir," Harry said hurriedly. "I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you actually, Headmaster? If that's all right, of course."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Of course you may, Harry. I was going to call you to my office in the next couple of days anyway as it happens, we can kill two birds with one stone. If you'll excuse me, Filius…"

"Certainly, Albus. Mr Potter, good to see you again. Charms tomorrow morning, I'll see you there!"

"You bet, Professor," Harry replied, as the diminutive professor wandered away, whistling to himself. Dumbledore set off towards his office, and Harry followed close behind.

"So, Harry, glad to be back? Eager for study?" the Headmaster enquired conversationally.

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. "I guess so, yes. It's good to be back with my friends, certainly."

"But you're not looking forward to taking your O.W.L.s? You do surprise me, Harry."

"Oh, yeah…can't wait, sir."

Dumbledore's lips twitched faintly. "I'm sure. I remember a Quibbler article from a few years ago…Xenophilius was positive that the Ministry was casting Confundus Charms on everyone who took the exams. Some conspiracy or other, I forget which."

Harry grinned. He was familiar with the _Quibbler_ magazine, having seen it a few times at the Burrow. "Y'know, sir, I can really picture you reading that somehow."

"Oh, it's a fine magazine. An excellent crossword, it must be said. I have been known to take a whole hour to finish it, which is quite an achievement for them, Harry, at the risk of sounding arrogant. And Xenophilius and I have shared research, in the past. Nothing much came of it, sadly."

"I see," Harry said, lying through his teeth. Dumbledore walked ahead a couple of paces as they approached the gargoyle that guarded the office, and stood in front of it, his arms folded.

"Blood Pops!"

The gargoyle swung open, revealing the staircase, and they mounted the steps briskly. The office door swung open, and Harry walked once more into the steady hum of Dumbledore's office. He'd never quite realized before how much activity there was in there. A collection of intricate silver instruments on a desk on the far-side of the room, gently rotating and emitting smoke every now and again. The hundreds of portraits of former Headmasters, many of whom were asleep – or pretending to be. In the corner of the room, Harry spotted Fawkes; the phoenix had its head curled under its wing at the moment, and was a far duller cooler than it had been the last time Harry had seen it. Dumbledore took his seat behind his desk, and beckoned Harry to sit down. He winced; the office was at the spiritual heart of Hogwarts, if not physically, and the pressure on his skull was beginning to return.

"Now, what can I do for you, Harry? It is rather unusual for you to seek me out, I must say."

"Yes, I'm sorry, sir. It's just…well, something happened, during your speech," Harry began.

"Oh? I can't say I noticed anything."

"It wasn't anything big…well, not really. I just – well, I was listening to your speech, and I sort of, well, tuned out a little bit I guess…"

"Perfectly understandable, Harry, I'm aware it wasn't my most scintillating offering. Do go on," Dumbledore commented, straight-faced.

"Yeah, well…when I stopped concentrating, I just felt this…pressure, on the base of my skull. This big mass of magic, just pressing up against me. Titus thinks it was Hogwarts?"

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry, Harry, I should have thought. It's not unusual for more powerful wizards – or sorcerers, as it may be – to become aware of powerful magic around them. Although I must admit, I've never heard of anyone becoming aware of the magic in a building…"

"It's not just buildings sir. It's everything. I nearly got hit by a car over the summer, because I was feeling the magic coming out of someone's hedge. It's weird; it's like…like I'm plugged into the world's biggest conference call, and everyone's speaking a different language, but it's just close enough to English for me to work it out. If that makes any sense."

"I think I follow you, Harry. Well, your problem is not insurmountable – I can teach you certain techniques to dampen your awareness, and in the short term I've got an old charm bracelet somewhere, from when I was in your position. Although of course, I only ever had to worry about meeting powerful wizards; the magic within flora and fauna was not something I ever had to worry about, I must say."

"It's not been that much of a problem before, sir. It's just more…intense, now."

"Hmm. Headaches, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah. And nearly setting fire to the table during the Feast."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Well we can't have that, can we? Although I did once set fire to the bed drapes when I was a student – they were in dreadful condition, I was doing them a kindness really. That's what I told the Headmaster, at least."

"Did he believe you?" Harry enquired.

"For some unaccountable reason, he didn't." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled roguishly, and Harry grinned. The Headmaster stood up, and walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room, starting to rummage through the drawers. "So, what do you think of our new Defence professor, Harry?"

Harry grimaced. "Can't say I'm looking forward to her lessons sir. Why'd you hire her? I know you don't like her."

"Very few people like Delores Umbridge, Harry. But we shouldn't hold that against her. In all honesty, nobody applies for the Defence position these days. The last two appointments have been personal favours to me, not people seeking a career. But Professor Umbridge feels that the students of Hogwarts need reminding of the dangers of the Dark Arts in this time of war. That danger will breed temptation to resort to the blackest magics. She is here, in short, to reinforce morality. Now why do I still have that?" Dumbledore picked up what looked like a teapot made out of marble, and shrugged, throwing it aside.

"And keeping an eye on us for the Ministry?" Harry asked, quietly. Dumbledore turned round and looked at him.

"It's a shame that one so young should be so cynical, Harry. And while Cornelius is, in fact, perfectly capable of something like that, I do not believe it to be the case – this time. As I said, Harry, not many people like her, even in the Ministry. Cornelius makes great use of her, but he was very happy to see the back of her. No, she is not reporting to the Ministry. But that said, she has worked there for many years, and does still have some influence. If she decided to, she could cause…problems, shall we say." He turned back to the cabinet, recommencing his search.

Harry nodded slowly. "Why couldn't you call in another favour instead? There must be someone who could come back – Remus, or Peter?"

"I'm sure they would be perfectly happy to, yes, but the people I could ask are all members of the Order – and as such, are doing rather more important things elsewhere. Education is important, Harry, but useless if Voldemort over-runs the country while we study."

"I suppose. So don't annoy Umbridge, basically?"

"I would hope you don't set out to annoy any of your professors, Harry. Ah-ha!" Dumbledore yanked something out of a drawer triumphantly, and waved it over his head. "I knew I had it somewhere." He tossed it to Harry with a flick of his wrist; as Harry snatched it from the air, he immediately felt the pressure on his skull vanish. "Still working, Harry?"

"Yes sir. Thank you! That feels so much better."

"Excellent. As I said, I shall teach you how to block such sensations out yourself, but that will do in the meantime."

Harry smiled, and strapped the bracelet around his wrist. His head felt clearer – quieter – than it had for weeks. He hadn't realised how much background magic he must have been aware of. It was something of a relief…but he couldn't help but feel a little empty. As if part of him had gone numb. Nevertheless, it was a better option than risking a repeat of the Great Hall.

"Now, there was something else I wanted to discuss with you, Harry." Dumbledore strode across the office, hurrying up the brief flight of stairs at the back. When he returned, he was holding a familiar looking sword. He placed it on the desk in front of Harry, the candlelight glinting off the strange metal. On a sudden suspicion, Harry loosened the clasp of the bracelet, slipping it from his wrist. He had been right: the sword fairly reeked of power. He stretched out his arm, brushing his fingertips over the hilt. A shock ran up his arm; a whisper of magic slithering into him, connecting him to the sword. He shivered, and drew back.

"I'd forgotten about it. You said you were going to do some research on it – did you find out anything?" He looked up at Dumbledore, strapping the bracelet back round his arm with a click.

"Sadly not, Harry. It's a powerful weapon, certainly, and clearly connected to you as a sorcerer somehow – but nothing else. I'm afraid I don't even know what the blade is made of. So I return it to you. I don't know how much use it will be for you, but better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, as they say."

"True. Although I can't think of much use for a sword – not when I carry my wand all the time."

Dumbledore shrugged, spreading his hands. "Perhaps not. But you never know. And it is only gathering dust here, after all."

Harry grinned. "I guess. I don't suppose you've got anything to cover it with though? People talk about me enough, without carrying a sword through the castle."

As Dumbledore started to reply, the sword rippled; the blade shrank, retracting towards the hilt, while the guard changed shape entirely, morphing into a simple cross-guard. Harry reached out again, picking it up. He smiled again.

"Harry, I assume I don't have to tell you not to carry that around on a day to day basis?" Dumbledore said, looking over his glasses at Harry.

"Don't worry sir, I'll be good."

"Excellent. Now, I'm afraid I have things that I must be getting on with. However, I will owl you in a few days, and arrange another meeting, see what we can do about some shields to replace that charm. And who knows? I may think of a few other things to teach you. If you'd be interested, of course."

Harry tilted his head, considering. "I think that would be rather good, yes sir."

"Splendid. Good night, Harry."

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I rather enjoyed writing that. Just to reassure/disappoint you, Harry is not going to be using the sword on a regular basis. As he says, there's not much use for a sword when there are spells like sectumsempra around. It'll show up though…


	7. Lessons in Morality

**A/N:** Oh my God it's an update. Funny how things work out, isn't it? You can spend the best part of four months trying to work out a chapter, and then it gets done in couple of days. Ah well. Sorry it's taken so long; hopefully it won't be such a long gap before the next update, but I'm going to say no update this side of October, just to be safe. Well, not for this, anyway – I'm toying with an idea for a post-DH fic at the moment, so that may see signs of life…anyway, here's the chapter: read and review!

**Chapter 7: Lessons in Morality**

Harry swung the sword round in a broad sweep, watching it appraisingly. He would never claim to be an expert at wielding a sword, especially outside the boundaries of a fencing pisté, but he was no amateur. The weapon was perfectly balanced for him, which was highly unusual – although of course, Harry had never heard of any other sword that could change its shape apparently at the whim of its owner, so he supposed it made a certain amount of sense. A test with a conjured piece of metal had confirmed that the sword was sinfully sharp, and Harry had decided that it would be a good idea to never touch the blade. He was about to hide the sword in his trunk when somebody whistled appreciatively behind him.

"Bloody hell, where'd you get that?"

Harry turned and smiled at Ron as the redhead approached, but did not place the sword in his friend's outstretched hand. Disappointment flashed across Ron's face for a moment, but he didn't say anything.

"Dumbledore gave it to me last night. Well, gave it back I should say. It's the sword I killed the basilisk with in our second year."

"Very nice…watch out Death Eaters, Harry Potter's about!" Ron grinned at him.

"Heh. Nice idea, but not going to happen. Not much use waving a sword at Voldemort if he can tear me apart before I can get close enough to hit him with it."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Ron frowned. "What's the point in it then?"

"Well, magic was fuck all use against the basilisk – I doubt I'm going to meet another, but you never know what might happen. And you know, swords are cool. Never forget that, Ron."

"Oh, I won't," Ron said solemnly. "So, when do I get a go?"

"Maybe some other time mate, don't worry." Harry put the sword – now returned to its shrunken, dagger like form – back into his trunk, buried under several years worth of his possessions for safekeeping. Locking it with a tap of his wand, he followed Ron out of the dorm. "Charms first, isn't it?"

"Yep. Do you ever feel like you've forgotten everything you ever knew over the holidays?"

"Sometimes. Usually about halfway through Snape's start of year test. I swear he gives us stuff we've never seen before…" Harry grumbled, as they walked into the common room. Ron nodded fervently in agreement, waving at someone on the other side of the room. Hermione was perched on the edge of a table, shovelling more books than any reasonable person should be able to carry into her bag, while Ginny watched her dispiritedly.

"Ginny, you need to pay attention! I know he's not the greatest teacher, but it's an important class – one of the most important ones!"

"You say that about all our classes Hermione," Ron teased, sitting down next to his sister. "What should you be paying attention to then sis?"

"Professor Binns. We've got History first," Ginny moaned.

"What's so bad about that? Supervised naptime to kick off the year, sounds great to me!" Harry remarked. Hermione pierced him with a disapproving glare, and he grinned at her cheekily. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to her books, muttering about "irresponsible boys…"

"What have you guys got first then?"

"Charms. Defence afterwards though – we'll let you know what she's like," Harry assured her.

Ginny grimaced. "I can't wait. Good luck with her."

"Nothing like optimism, Ginny. Come _on_ Hermione, you don't need all those books. Let's just go and get some breakfast…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

After a relaxing Charms lesson, Flitwick choosing to give them a simple refresher test, Harry and the other Gryffindors made their way over to the Defence classroom on the third floor. A group of Ravenclaw students was huddled by the door, talking amongst themselves. It was a smaller group than Harry was used to seeing, and it took him a moment to realise that – of course – Padma was absent, having gone back to India with Parvati and their parents. A momentary twang of sorrow passed through him, but he shook it off. The two house groups dispersed as the Ravenclaws noticed the new arrivals, friends heading over to each other with smiles of greeting and a sudden burst of chatter and gossip. Harry slouched against the wall, watching it all with a smile. After a moment though, he realised that he was the object of someone's attention, a Ravenclaw boy he didn't really know. The boy nodded at him as their eyes met, and shuffled over, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Um, hi there, Harry. Anthony Goldstein, we've never really spoken before…"

Harry smiled at him encouragingly, reaching out to shake the other boy's hand. "Nice to meet you now then. What's on your mind?"

Goldstein flushed, just a little. "Well, I don't really know how to say this, but…we were all wondering, I suppose…what are you doing here?"

Harry blinked, a little taken back by the boy's sudden bluntness. Next to him, Hermione straightened up, her eyes flashing. "I say, that's incredibly rude! Who do you think you are?"

The boy cowered in the face of her anger, as so many did, but she tailed off as Harry placed his hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Hermione. I think I know what he's getting at."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so rude, but…you're the Boy-Who-Lived. Shouldn't you be out there fighting, not at school?"

All other conversation had ceased; everyone was watching the exchange. Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he debated the best way to respond. "You're right, Anthony. I am the Boy-Who-Lived. But I'm also a fifteen year old boy who hasn't even taken his O.W.L.s yet – what am I supposed to do that the Aurors can't?"

"I suppose…but you've beaten him before, you could do it again couldn't you?"

"I've _escaped_ from him before," Harry countered. "I'm pretty powerful, and I'm a decent wizard, but make no mistake: I've been lucky every time I've fought him, very lucky. If I went up against him now, I'd just get myself killed."

Goldstein sagged, as if the air had been taken out of him. "That…wasn't really what I was hoping to hear, I'll be honest."

"I'm sure. Don't get me wrong: I'll do everything I can to fight him – but right now, that's not much. Even if I could hope to stand up to him, it's not like anyone knows where he is. I could wander round the country hoping to stumble over him, or I could come back to Hogwarts, and try to learn enough magic that I can hand his arse to him on a platter the next time we meet."

There were a few chuckles at that, and Goldstein's lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "There are worse plans I guess. But what about – well, you're a pretty big target, Harry. How do we know Hogwarts won't be targeted because you're here?"

Harry shrugged reluctantly. "You don't. Aside from what stopped Voldemort coming here in the last war: Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort's terrified of him, and he won't risk an open attack. Hogwarts is the safest place in the country, whether I'm here or not. Never forget that, ok?"

The Ravenclaw stood still for a long moment, and then nodded. "I won't. Sorry, that must have sounded really – silly, I guess."

"We're at war. There's nothing silly about worrying about that. Just don't let that fear control you, ok? Otherwise Voldemort's already won."

Goldstein looked like he was going to say more, but the classroom door swung open, and the assembled students began to file in. As Harry picked up his bag, Hermione hugged him.

"What was that for?"

"For being you. I don't think you know how much good that will have done everyone." She beamed at him, and hurried into the classroom. Ron looked at Harry as they walked in.

"Don't worry mate, I could tell you were making it up as you went along."

"Don't worry, I'll get Hermione to explain the big words to you later, ok?"

Ron shoved him playfully as they took their seats, taking out their textbooks. Harry had skimmed through it briefly over the holidays, and hadn't been particularly impressed. Umbridge was standing at the front of the classroom, an unpleasant vision in pink, and she smiled at the class as they fell silent.

"Well, good morning girls and boys! Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts – I am Professor Delores Umbridge." As she spoke, a piece of chalk jumped into the air, writing her name on the blackboard behind her. "Now, I'll just take the register, then we can begin…"

Once she had gone all round the room, treating every student to what was presumably meant to be a charming smile, Umbridge tapped the chalk with her wand, and it jumped to the board again, writing 'Course Aims'.

"I've been reviewing your previous teachers notes, and I think that it would be fair to say that you have had an extremely…eclectic syllabus, shall we say. I'm sure you'd all agree that you learnt little of use in your first two years, however enjoyable lessons with Gilderoy Lockhart may have been! Your last two teachers do seem to have been competent, I will admit, but – well, a year of Dark creatures, and then exposure to highly illegal curses! Hardly a good foundation for a decent position on the Dark Arts!"

Harry shifted in his chair, watching her carefully.

"This year will, of course, be very different – and indeed, years to come, I hope!" There was a brief pause where it became apparent that the students were supposed to have laughed at this, but the metaphorical tumbleweed was already blowing across the room, and Umbridge continued, looking a little disgruntled. "Yes, well…this year, of course, Wizarding Britain is at war. You all know this, and I trust I don't have to remind you of the importance of standards and morality. The enemy will use whatever tactics they can to try and beat us – Dark Arts, dangerous creatures and monsters… There are schools of thought that suggest fighting fire with fire, but I am here to teach you otherwise. There is no justification for use of the Dark Arts, as I hope you already believe. I am here not just to teach you how to defend yourself with magic, but to stand fast against temptation and the slide into Darkness. If even one of you is corrupted, whether through fear, ambition, or otherwise, then You-Know-Who will have his victory. You are, as they say, the future: it is my job to ensure that the future of this country is in safe hands."

Harry looked across at Hermione, who was watching Umbridge with pursed lips. He had to admit, Umbridge certainly brought passion to the job. There was even a chance she might turn out to be a half-decent teacher – depending on what she thought of as Dark Arts.

"Now, clearly you cannot withstand the Dark Arts if you do not have a clear understanding of what exactly the Dark Arts are. Can anybody tell me?"

There was silence for a moment, until one of the Ravenclaw students – Su Li, Harry remembered – tentatively raised her hand in the air. Umbridge nodded at her encouragingly.

"Erm…the Unforgivable curses?"

Umbridge nodded. "They are certainly excellent examples of the Dark Arts, but I was looking more for a definition than examples. Anyone else?"

Lavender Brown put her hand up, which surprised Harry. If anyone in Gryffindor was going to comment, he'd have thought it would be Hermione – although he supposed that something like this wasn't really something you could learn from a book.

"Yes Miss…Brown, wasn't it?"

"Yes Professor. Any magic banned by the Ministry."

Umbridge smiled. "Take a point for Gryffindor, Miss Brown. You are somewhat correct – if something is banned by the Ministry, then it is because it is one of the Dark Arts, but the question is _why_ are these magics banned?"

Harry put his own hand up. He was fairly sure that Umbridge wouldn't approve of his answer, but he wanted to put his views forward regardless. "You can never be sure what the Dark Arts are – but you know them when you see them. And there's dark and there's Dark. Just because someone identifies as dark doesn't mean they're a Dark Lord in waiting."

He locked eyes with Umbridge, very aware that every eye in the room was now on him.

"That is not, in fact, the case, Master Potter," Umbridge replied, rather sternly. "There is only Dark and Light – and you of all people should know the dangers of Darkness. Well," she said, turning to the class as a whole. "I thought I might be able to get a definition, but it seems not. Obviously, Dark magic is any magic that can be used to harm – mentally or physically – another human being."

"I'm afraid I disagree, Professor," Harry spoke up, calmly. Next to him, Ron buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"You disagree?" Umbridge exclaimed with a scowl.

"Yes. Any magic can be used to cause harm, and that doesn't make it Dark."

"Potter, that is patently ridiculous," Umbridge said with a snort of derision. Harry scowled at her.

"Have you ever heard of Caitlyn Dolohov, Professor?" Harry asked, as calmly as he could.

"Yes…a Death Eater, safely incarcerated in Azkaban. What of her?"

"She escaped arrest for years because she was using household spells to torture people; her wand got tested loads of times, but all the Aurors found was stuff like _Scourgify_. They didn't realise she was killing people with it."

Umbridge hesitated for a moment, while Harry noted the disgusted looks scattered around the room. "True enough, I admit. But just because spells can be perverted in such a fashion does not mean that magic specifically designed to harm and kill is not abhorrent. Magic is _life_, Potter. It is in everything around us, within our very bodies. To take such a natural, beautiful force and turn it to a weapon…it is the height of depravity."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but paused, falling silent. In truth, he had never considered the matter from that point of view – and he knew better than anyone that there was inherent magic in the world around them. While he wasn't entirely sure he agreed with Umbridge, she did have a point. He shrugged, inclining his head and settling back in his seat. Umbridge smiled at him.

"I'm glad that we are in agreement Master Potter. Now of course, this is a Defence class – if using magic to harm someone is so appalling, how are you to defend yourselves? Well, today we are going to practice a handy little spell known as the Trip Jinx…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry was still raging about it later that day, at dinner. To his relief, he was at least joined in this by everyone else who had been in the class.

"She taught you the Trip Jinx?" Lee Jordan was asking, incredulously. "Seriously? But that's…"

"A prank spell, yeah," Harry growled.

"How does she expect us to pass our O.W.L.s with a syllabus like that? The most advanced spell she could possibly teach us is a Stunning spell!" Hermione had been complaining about it all day, in a similar fashion. Harry supposed he had been doing the same thing, but he still thought it was irritating. Apparently Lavender agreed.

"Give it a rest, Hermione. We know it's a rubbish syllabus, but what can we do? She's the professor, and presumably she's cleared it with Dumbledore."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Harry muttered, but he was cut off by Dean.

"To be fair, didn't Harry say she used to work for the Ministry? Perhaps she's teaching us what the Ministry wants us to learn for our exams…"

"Then that just means the entire Ministry are fucking idiots, not just Umbridge," Ron snapped. The conversation halted, everyone looking at him in shock. The red head didn't often get so outspoken about politics. "I'm not saying she should be teaching us serious stuff like Aurors learn, but this? It's the kind of thing that Neville wanted to learn, and…" He trailed off, and there was an awkward silence. "Anyway, it's just – it's no use."

"I'll see if I can track down some decent textbooks – at it might be worth getting hold of an official Ministry syllabus, check against that," Harry suggested. "Let us know what she teaches you lot as well, there might be something more useful for the older classes."

"I doubt it, but we'll see. Perhaps we can get her into a Potions lesson; an hour of Snape would get her to crack!" Fred sniggered as he spoke, and the conversation lightened up, as complaining about Snape often caused.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Albus Dumbledore watched serenely as Delores Umbridge paced the room in front of him, waving her aims agitatedly. "The boy has dangerous ideas, Dumbledore! Suggesting that Dark magic can be acceptable…he is the Boy-Who-Lived! A beacon of the Light! His words could sway an entire generation! He needs to learn the right attitudes!"

"Delores, calm yourself," Dumbledore told her, stroking his beard to hide his amusement. "While I admit that Harry does not conform to Ministry guidelines in every aspect of his life, he is no more a Dark wizard than – well, than yourself, Delores."

Umbridge skewered him with a glare. "Are you sure of that, Albus? You're not known for 'conforming to Ministry guidelines' yourself, are you?"

"I hope you are not accusing me of being a Dark wizard, Delores," Dumbledore remarked, mildly. "You seem to throw that accusation around a lot, it's a very bad habit. You might regret it one day."

Umbridge turned away, clearly flustered. "These are dangerous times, Albus. I do what I have to to ensure the future of our way of life. Harry Potter is a symbol, a rallying point for every right thinking wizard and witch in the country. We cannot afford to take risks with him."

"Oh, I quite agree, Delores," Dumbledore said with a smile. "If I might make a suggestion?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Harry is powerful, and he is highly skilled in many schools of magic – perhaps not my equal, if I may be so immodest, but as you say, he is a beacon. A leader, almost. And while his friends will follow him to the death, he does not know how to lead in numbers…"

Umbridge tilted her head, considering this. "A taste of responsibility…yes, that could work. Make him responsible for the well being of others, and he would soon shape up. But he doesn't do anything outside academia except Quidditch – that's hardly going to teach him the appropriate skills."

"Indeed. I believe that when you were a pupil here, you were a member of the Duelling club?" Dumbledore enquired, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"I was, yes," Umbridge nodded. "A rather skilled member, though I say it myself."

Dumbledore allowed himself a smile. "Of course. Student led, if I recall correctly?"

"Yes, it was – but I don't see…oh. Yes, of course. If Potter were to teach students to duel safely and responsibly – "

"And morally, of course."

"And morally, yes – it's perfect. An excellent idea, Albus! You'll suggest it to him, or should I?"

"I need to meet with him soon anyway, Delores, I'll mention it to him, don't worry."

"Excellent, excellent…well, thank you Albus. I must say, this little talk has been most reassuring." Umbridge beamed, and Dumbledore nodded acknowledgement at her.

"I am quite delighted, Delores. Good night."

As Umbridge left the office, her heels clicking against the stone steps, Fawkes poked his head out from underneath his wing, and trilled sleepily. Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, it did go rather well, didn't it? This should put Harry well on the way to becoming the leader the public will clamour for – assuming he doesn't follow Delores' instructions to the letter, of course."

The phoenix trilled again, a higher pitched sound, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"No, I don't think he will either. Delightful, isn't it? And it was very nearly her own idea…"


	8. The Wandmaker

**Chapter 8: The Wandmaker**

Harry sat very still, his legs crossed and his hands resting casually on his thighs as he let the feel of Hogwarts wash over him. There was a slight blank spot in his awareness of his surroundings, the charm bracelet Dumbledore had given him resting on the Headmaster's desk, but even though he wasn't wearing it the charm remained a stabilising presence. He needed it, if he was honest with himself. Dumbledore seemed to have taken a 'throw him in at the deep end approach' by getting Harry to practise controlling his awareness in his own office.

Fawkes burned in Harry's mind. The phoenix shone so brightly – so purely – in Harry's perception that he almost wept. The bird was the anvil to Dumbledore's hammer, a piece of magic so calm and controlled against Dumbledore's tightly reined but raging power.

His hands began to shake, his fingers tightening on his legs, and he screwed his eyes in concentration, focussing on the advice Dumbledore had given him before he started his meditation.

"Focus, Harry. Keep your mind clear; don't think, just feel."

Harry suppressed a flicker of irritation at the Headmaster's words. He knew perfectly well what he had to do, it was just that putting it into practise was…complicated. The magic around Hogwarts was electrifying, and ignoring it was far easier said than done – especially when the advice was so vague. How exactly did one clear one's mind completely?

"Harry, you're not clearing your mind…" There was a clear note of amusement in Dumbledore's voice, and Harry growled.

"With all due respect sir, how do you know?"

"Open your eyes a moment, will you?"

Harry did so, and blinked. "Sir? Did you – did you shrink, or have I grown?"

"Neither; look down," Dumbledore said with a smile.

Harry tilted his head, and grimaced. "I'm floating."

"You are indeed," Dumbledore acknowledged.

"I've never done that before…" he looked up helplessly. "How do I stop?"

Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Try just thinking about it."

Harry felt a little dubious, but closed his eyes and concentrated on moving downwards. Nothing happened, at first – and then he slammed into the floor, eliciting a yelp of pain and shock. He looked up at Dumbledore ruefully, grateful that the Headmaster was pretending he didn't find the whole thing amusing.

"Well, that could have gone better, couldn't it?"

"Things can always go better, Harry, but I wouldn't dismiss the entire experience just yet."

"Why not? I didn't manage to clear my mind, and I ended up floating!"

"And given what has happened when you have lost control of your magic in the past?"

Harry frowned, and Dumbledore continued. "You turned the Hospital Wing into the beginnings of a forest, amongst other things. A little floating is insignificant in comparison, surely."

"True," Harry admitted, "but it's a long way from where I want to be."

"I was under the impression that you more or less had control of your magic now, Harry. Apart from at times of particular stress, of course. Regardless though, you are missing my point. From creating a miniature forest, or starting fires, to levitating yourself – it indicates that you are at least subconsciously molding your magic to your will; you are no longer causing chaos, for want of a better term. As for shielding yourself from the pressure around you…well, it took me a few years to master the skill, and I was learning in a far more peaceful environment. Do not expect too much too soon, Harry."

Harry curled his lip in displeasure. That was not what he really wanted to hear. Dumbledore flashed him a knowing smile. "Perhaps you will beat me, hmm?"

"Oh, I doubt that very much!" Harry responded, laughing a little.

"You do yourself a disservice my boy, but let us move on. There are other matters we should discuss."

Harry climbed to his feet, grabbing the charm bracelet and replacing it around his wrist. The pressure on his head disappeared abruptly, and he sank into a chair with a relieved sigh. Dumbledore sat down in his own chair, looking at Harry over his steepled fingers.

"Professor Umbridge was not very happy with you after your lesson on Monday, Harry. I'm sure you are devastated to hear that."

"Utterly. What was she annoyed about? I know I didn't agree with everything she said, but I could have been worse. I didn't say anything to her about teaching us the bloody Trip Jinx!"

A pained look crossed the Headmaster's face. "Yes, I heard about that. She doesn't offer a terribly advanced syllabus, it's true, but I'm working on bringing her round to more suitable material – although obviously, I will never be able to change her completely. We did discuss something else though. Do you remember the Duelling Club from your second year?"

"How could I forget?" Harry asked wryly. It had been one of his more spectacular magical accidents.

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course. Well, the Duelling Club itself was an old institution that has fallen out of favour in more recent years – not something that Lockhart dreamt up. As the Ministry became more intolerant of what they call Dark Arts, more and more parents and members of the Governors Board called for it to be disbanded. A sad loss, but perhaps inevitable. However, Dolores and I discussed resurrecting it."

"That could be fun…" Harry remarked cautiously, "but I don't see the relevance. It's not like she'd be teaching us anything worthwhile or new there, after all. She's almost as clueless as we are, magically speaking!"

"True, but the Duelling Club was always student led in times past. It was only Lockhart's need to show off that changed that – and I must admit, the other staff were dying to see him make a fool of himself in public. There are few things so vindictive as a horde of angry school teachers, Harry, a valuable life lesson for you."

"Couldn't you pass that on at the start of every year? There'd be less detentions that way."

"An excellent point, and one I will consider for the future," Dumbledore commented solemnly. "Anyway, as I said, the Club was student led."

"And…?"

"Well, we were rather hoping that you would do the honours. With a few trusted companions, of course."

Harry sat there in silence for a moment, astonished. "Me? But – there's got to be people who are better than me!"

"I suspect not, in fact, but that is largely irrelevant; no-one else is seen to be the chosen saviour of the Wizarding World. Like it or not, Harry, people view you as a leader, or they will. Better to start in an easily controlled scenario, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm…I'm not a leader, sir. I'm not interested in any of that," Harry spoke quietly, almost embarrassed.

"Great wizards and witches often aren't, Harry. What is the line? 'Some are born to greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.'"

"Something like that, sir, yes," Harry acknowledged.

"It won't be that bad, Harry. Just teach people a few spells, and I'm not suggesting you start tomorrow. Perhaps after Halloween, what do you say? That should give us plenty of time to organise everything, and plan precisely what you want to teach. I'm sure Miss Granger will jump at the chance to assist you."

"She's probably going to end up taking over completely, actually, but I can live with that…"

"Ah, don't let it get you down, Harry! You may discover a hitherto unknown talent and ambition for teaching, after all. We're always looking for new Defence professors you know."

"Maybe once one of them's lasted longer than a year," Harry suggested.

"Yes, well, never let it be said that Lord Voldemort is not a sore loser," Dumbledore said, an unfamiliar note of anger in his voice.

"Sir?"

"He applied for the position – twice, actually. The first time, my predecessor, Armando Dippet, turned him down due to his inexperience and youth – he was fresh out of Hogwarts, you understand – and I myself turned him away a few years later. Not because of inexperience, but because by this stage he was rather more immersed in the darker areas of magic than we generally like our staff to be."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You do remember Quirrell, don't you sir?"

"I am far from perfect, Harry, whatever my reputation may say," the Headmaster replied, looking at him over his glasses. "And Quirrell was nothing compared to Tom Riddle, even then. I would venture, for instance, that classes would not have reacted well to his appearance, amongst other things."

"He's not the best looking guy, it must be said."

"To be perfectly honest, Harry, I have always found his earlier appearance a little more unsettling than his present look. Almost normal, but with something just…off, about him. Although he had the red eyes, even then. At least now the monster is visible for all to see."

"I suppose so…" Harry said, dubiously.

"Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? I think that will be all for tonight, Harry. I'm sure you have a mountain of essays to be getting on with! I will see you soon however, and we will work on your focus some more – and I've been putting some thought to a few handy spells, although they are perhaps best left off the Duelling Club list…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Knockturn Alley had a distinctly dubious reputation, which was largely undeserved. True, it was easier to get hold of less than legal items there than in Diagon Alley, and there was a higher rate of casual – and not so casual – violence within the shadows of the cramped buildings. It was also, for instance, the place to go if you wanted to hire a prostitute. Despite this, it was far from the haven of Dark wizards that popular opinion held it to be.

However, that was not to say that Dark wizards did not go there.

The shop was little more than a hovel, really – a ramshackle shed with a wooden door and grimy windows. A rat scurried over the doorstep and through a hole in the door, the passers by paying no attention. The interior of the building was just as rundown, covered in dust, but packed with battered boxes stacked on every flat surface. They were unmarked, which was how the shop's customers liked them.

Ollivander was not the only wand-maker in town. Not everyone who went to the shop was a Death Eater, but the wands sold there were very, very illegal. Constructed away from the Ministry, they lacked both the Trace and the formal registration that would link each wand to its owner. It was not a brisk trade, but a customer paid far more for a wand from the shop than they would at Ollivander's – buying discretion and anonymity as well as the wand itself.

The shopkeeper, Grantham, was nestled behind a counter, swigging from a bottle of whiskey and leafing through the _Prophet_. He grunted at one of the reports, spitting on the floor and turning the page.

Something fell over in the store-room, a heavy sound echoing around the shop, and Grantham looked up sharply.

"Who's there? Come on out!"

There was silence, and he heaved himself to his feet, swearing quietly. He placed the bottle onto the counter, and drew his wand. It shook in his hand as he stumbled towards the store-room. Throwing the door open, he cast a beam of light inside, surprisingly bright and powerful, and looked around. A few boxes had been knocked off their perch, scattering shabby looking wands over the floor, but there was no sign of anybody. Taking a step further into the room, he held his wand above his head, illuminating even the darkest corners of the room. A rat dashed out from behind a box and between his legs.

"Bloody rats…"

Grantham flicked his wand irritably; the wands leapt back into their boxes, and soared back into position on one of the tables. Grantham shoved his wand back inside his jacket, and turned round – only to fall backwards, yelling out in shock at the sight of the dark robed man in front of him.

The other wizard's wand flashed, and Grantham found himself flung backwards, ropes wrapping around his body to hold him in place against the wall. The wizard moved towards him, his eyes never leaving Grantham's face.

"Cameron Grantham?"

"Y-yes. Who are…what do you want?" Grantham started to sweat, flexing his wrists in a futile attempt to escape his bonds.

"I want to check on something with you. the wands you make here; who do you sell them to?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's not a complex question, surely…" The wizard trailed the tip of his wand slowly up Grantham's chest. "Who do you sell your wands to?"

"Anyone! It's a shop, anyone who wants one can buy one!"

"Even Death Eaters?" The wizard reached into Grantham's jacket and withdrew his wand. "Carrying any others? I'll know if you lie."

Grantham shook his head frantically, his lank hair falling about his face. "I dunno, I just sell them to whoever. No-one's ever shown up in an outfit, that's all I know."

"Do you keep a list of clients?"

"Course I don't!"

The wizard sighed, and tapped Grantham's forehead with his wand. Grantham's body was wracked with a sudden, intense pressure, and he cried out in pain.

"I did say I'd know if you lied. Where is it?"

"Desk…it's in the desk…please, stop it…"

The pressure vanished as the wizard turned away, walking to the desk and riffling through the papers inside it. Grantham watched him, panting heavily and his eyes narrowed in anger. "Who are you?"

"You don't need to know that, Cameron. Be quiet."

"Auror, are you? Bastard, you can't do this! I'm a respectable businessman I am!"

The wizard snorted. "I'm not an Auror, and you're not respectable in any sense, never mind your business dealings. Ah, here we are…" He pulled out a file, and started leafing through the parchment. "There's a couple of names of interest here, Cameron. You don't mind if I take a copy of this, do you?"

"Yes I bloody well do!" Grantham spluttered, outraged. "That's me livelihood, that is! If it gets out I let some tosser wander in 'ere and steal my client list, I'd never work again!"

"A great loss to the industry, I'm sure," the wizard commented drily. "But don't worry. I'm just going to cross reference this with a couple of other lists. It'll hopefully lead me to some Death Eaters, and they won't be able to complain after I'm finished. No-one will ever know you were involved."

Grantham glowered at the wizard. "So you say. Not like I've got much choice, I guess. Take it and piss off."

"Thank you." The wizard tapped the parchment, duplicating it, and placed the copy in his robes. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"You gonna let me down?" Grantham asked, sourly. The wizard flicked his wand, and the ropes vanished. Grantham fell to his knees, rubbing the marks on his wrists and scowling.

"Just one more thing…" The wizard stepped forward, looming over Grantham. The shopkeeper looked up at him expectantly. "You're not going to sell any more wands to people you know to be Death Eaters, are you? I'd hate to think that you'd aid You-Know-Who like that."

"Look mate, I'll sell my wands to whoever I damn well want to. What are you going to do, kill me?"

"Possibly."

The wizard's matter of fact tones gave Grantham pause, the spark of defiance fluttering briefly. Would the wizard kill him? He'd captured and disarmed him pretty handily, but killing was a big step.

"You're bluffing…"

The wizard sighed, and rubbed his head in exasperation. "No, I'm really not. You sell wands specially designed to help people break the law, to harm people. You'd be scum even if we weren't on the brink of war. I'd be interested to see how your death would affect the crime rate around here. But equally, I'd rather not kill more often than I have to. Blacklist Death Eaters, and we won't have a problem."

"Fuck you. I reckon I know who you are, right?" Grantham's eyes gleamed with a certain dull intelligence. "You're not an Auror, but you ain't a Death Eater. You're one of Dumbledore's lot, aren't ya? The Order of the wossit, phoenix. He'd never let you kill me. So fuck you. You got what you came for, now get lost and leave me in peace. And next time one of them Death Eaters comes in, I'll give 'em a bloody discount."

The wizard's blue eyes went cold. "You're very wrong about me, you know. I'll be watching you."

Grantham climbed to his feet, and staggered back to his desk. "Whatever. Give me back my wand."

The wizard threw it into the store-room, where it landed with a clatter. "I mean it, you know. Please, I don't want to kill you, but don't think for a moment that I'll hesitate if you give me reason."

Grantham sneered, and took a swig of the whiskey. "Whatever you say, boy." He swallowed, and then threw the bottle at the other wizard. He ducked, and Grantham grabbed a wand from one of the open boxes, spitting out a curse.

The wizard dodged smoothly, and the curse ricocheted off the wall into a stack of wandboxes, which immediately started smouldering. Before Grantham could even move his lips, the other wizard's curse took him in the eye, and he dropped to the floor. The wizard moved cautiously towards the fallen shopkeeper, and knelt, checking the man's pulse. He was dead. The wizard sighed.

"Damn it. I warned you…"

He stood up, and looked round the shop. He raised his wand, and pointed it at a perilously large stack of boxes. With a whisper, they caught fire, the flames leaping from stack to stack astonishingly quickly. With a last look at Grantham, the wizard turned back into his Animagus form, and the rat darted through the hole in the door once more.

By the time he had scurried down three different streets, plumes of smoke were billowing into the early evening sky. Ducking into the shadows, out of sight of the milling crowds who were starting to notice the smoke, he turned back, hunching into his cloak. Someone grabbed his shoulder, and he whirled, a deadly curse on the tip of his tongue.

"Whoa! Calm down, Pete, it's me." Caradoc Dearborn took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. Peter sighed and lowered his wand.

"Caradoc. Word of advice: if you want to work on Order missions, don't grab jumpy assassins in dark corners. You might get hurt."

Caradoc shrugged with a boyish grin. "What can I say? I like to walk on the wild-side. How'd it go?"

"You mean the smell of burning wands wasn't a strong enough hint for you?" Peter asked him acidly. He looked around; nobody was nearby, but he tapped his wand against the wall discretely. "I had to kill him, in the end."

Caradoc's gaze softened. "I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as he was, I'll bet." Peter turned on his heel and walked away, his cloak waving behind him. Caradoc raised his voice.

"What's the rush? I thought we could, you know, get a butterbeer or something?"

Peter didn't respond as he disappeared into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

**A/N:** Huh, another update. What is the world coming to? Hopefully it won't be too long before the next update, but we shall see. It is started though, and I know exactly what will be going in it, so it shouldn't' be too long. Keep an eye out though!


	9. The Duelling Association

**Chapter 9: The Duelling Association**

_Why couldn't he get through the door?_

_The half-heard whispering whispering still echoed around the corridor, frustratingly unintelligible. He knew, somehow, that the eye carved into the door was the key; work out what it was for, and he would be through. He was strangely reluctant to try anything though. Something about the door scared him, a feeling that he really, really didn't want to go through. Yet, when he dreamt of it, it consumed him. It was the whispering, he decided._

_Someone was talking to him._

_Or, maybe, talking about him._

_He had long since worked out that whoever it was, it wasn't Titus; he had been having the dream every couple of nights for weeks now, even though he forgot it upon waking, and he knew that Titus did not seem to exist in these dreams. While he would not claim to be an expert on the spirit – for he had decided that spirit was the best and simplest way of defining Titus, even if it wasn't really correct – he occasionally provided commentary on Harry's dreams. Presumably, then, these were not normal dreams. Harry could not really bring himself to be surprised by this knowledge. He would be more surprised when nothing unusual happened to him._

_If they were not normal dreams though, what was causing them? He did not claim to be a seer, although he supposed that judging that by his prowess in Divination classes was eminently stupid. He assumed though that someone in the dorm would have woken up if he had started having the kind of prophetic fit that Professor Trelawney had suffered in his third year. Even Ron didn't sleep that lightly._

_He had dreamt of Voldemort before – but this was different. Every time he had dreamt of the Dark Lord, he had been watching proceedings from Voldemort's perspective, inside his head. Unless Voldemort was regularly taking leisurely strolls into (Harry assumed) the Department of Mysteries, this, too, seemed unlikely, although not impossible. _

_Could they possibly be coming from somewhere else? Possibly, the place he had summoned the sword from? This seemed the most likely prospect, Harry felt. Although quite what linked the sword and the Department of Mysteries was, ironically, a complete mystery. Of course, Harry really wasn't that certain what the Department of Mysteries actually did. He knew it was something research based, at least primarily, and a magic sword would probably have been of great interest to them. _

_That still didn't answer the question of why he was dreaming about the Department. Or, indeed, who or what was speaking, and what they were saying. _

_Harry gazed up at the eye on the door, considering it. He was sitting, leant against the stone wall, as he usually did on the nights he dreamt of the door. He was trying to pluck up the courage to test his magic against it. He wasn't sure what, if anything, would happen. When he had thought he was affecting his dreams before, he had actually been attacking his own magical core, albeit for his own good. Would his magic affect something in a dream of dubious origin? More to the point, did he really want to know what was behind the door? Harry knew better than many his age that investigating mysteries was not necessarily good for mind, body and soul._

_Cautiously, he allowed his magic to flare slightly, unconsciously stroking the charm bracelet that hung on his wrist even here. As the familiar breeze began to shift around him, the whispering grew louder, more fervent._

_It sounded angry, somehow._

_He clamped down on his magic. If the voice didn't want him to go through, he wasn't going to argue._

_Then the corridor jolted, violently, shaking from side to side as if a giant had picked it up and thrown it. Harry leapt to his feet, but was instantly thrown to the floor again, sprawling there._

_The stone walls melted away, the door disappeared, and he found himself falling, falling, until blackness surrounded him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath, and opened them again. Everything was different. He could almost have believed himself back in the Ministry courtroom._

_The room was lit with a green glow that reminded him uncomfortably of the Killing Curse. It gave the room an unreal sheen, and he felt his fist tighten. He looked down, and realised that he was sitting in a chair of black wood, with shimmering silver serpents embossed on the arms. Was it a trick of the light, or were they writhing under his gaze? And his hand – what had happened to his hand? It was pale, the fingers elongated, almost stretched, ending with nails so long and sharp that they were more like claws than anything else._

"_My Lord?"_

_The familiar voice made him look up sharply, and he hissed._

_Sirius. Sirius addressing him as 'Lord'. _

_He was dreaming of Voldemort once more._

"_Are the preparations complete, my friend?" The Dark Lord spoke absently, distractedly, but Harry felt it was an act. He looked around, tilting his head back. The glow was coming from the ceiling, which was covered in shining five-pointed stars. Thousands of them, glittering as they bathed the room in deathly light. There was one larger one on the floor, with Sirius standing in the middle of it. It was surrounded by rows of benches, all empty at the moment, but clearly meant for an audience._

"_They are indeed, my Lord." Sirius bowed his head reverently. "The attack will take place just as planned. I will lead it myself."_

"_Take Rosier with you," Voldemort interjected casually._

_Sirius stiffened, his mouth set and his eyes narrowing slightly. "My Lord, I assure you – I am perfectly capable of leading the attack by myself."_

"_Oh, I know that, Sirius, I know. But dear Evan gets so restless when he's cooped up like this. Better for him to stretch his legs like this than to start indulging his little whims on the help, wouldn't you say?"_

_Sirius looked mollified, but only a little. "As you say, my Lord. Spitewinter still refuses to be in the room alone with him after the last time."_

_Voldemort chuckled with grim amusement. "Spitewinter is a pompous fool who should know not to play with dangerous animals. It was about time someone taught him his place – but perhaps you disagree?"_

"_Not in your assessment of his character, my Lord, but he is providing valuable…" Sirius trailed off. "Well, he is providing assistance, at least. We would not have anything like the numbers we need for the attack were it not for him, even if most of his followers are idiots."_

"_True enough. All the more reason to exercise Evan, wouldn't you say?"_

_Sirius bowed his head, acknowledging the point. Not that he would argue now even if he didn't agree; Harry knew it as firmly as Voldemort knew it._

"_If that is all, Sirius…"_

_His godfather bowed once more, but hesitated before leaving._

"_What is it?" Voldemort spoke quietly, but he was obviously not pleased. Harry noticed – and he was sure that Voldemort would have noticed – that Sirius flinched, just slightly._

"_My Lord, I was just…I merely wondered if you had decided what to do about the boy?"_

_Voldemort smiled coldly, his fangs bared. "Still so concerned about him, Sirius? How touching."_

"_My Lord, he is a powerful wizard – he would be a valuable ally."_

_Voldemort chuckled. "Potter will not join us. Why would he? But, should you meet him in battle, feel free to make the offer. Just do not hesitate to bring him to me when he refuses."_

"_I know why you believe that my Lord, and I respect that. But Harry knows what it means to wield power, he knows that power deserves respect. And he will never be satisfied with the constraints placed upon all wizards by the Ministry."_

_Harry felt a great swell of outrage within himself. Could Sirius really believe what he was saying?_

"_Do not try my patience, Black." Voldemort's voice was measured, but the anger was evident. Sirius fell to one knee._

"_My Lord, I know why you wish Harry dead, I just – " a troubled expression passed over his face. "I cannot believe that he will blindly follow Dumbledore into a self-made prison. There's something wild about him that will never be tamed. And he is open-minded. If he can be swayed, he would be of tremendous use to our cause."_

"_And, perhaps, a worthy successor to my throne?" Voldemort asked, pointedly._

_Sirius looked up, his eyes blazing with fervent belief. "No, my Lord. How can you be succeeded when you will never die? But even gods must have their right hand, and you must admit that Harry could be greater than any other wizard of his generation."_

"_True enough," Voldemort admitted. "But you know why he must die. And even if it were not so, I killed his parents, and I have tried to kill him on several occasions. Why would he even consider it? Offer, if it makes you happy, but you will obey me, when it comes to it."_

"_Of course, my Lord."_

"_Good. Now, leave me. I would be alone."_

Harry woke with a gasp, throwing the covers from the bed. Suddenly cold, he hunched up, scowling in anger. How could Sirius seriously think he would turn? He was no Dark wizard. He might dabble in a few less socially acceptable spells, but he was no potential Death Eater, even without the personal grievances. Sirius must be crazier than he had thought.

As ever, he remembered nothing of the door.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

A few days later, Harry was sat in the common room copying spells from a book Remus had sent him. It was a little more than he had asked for – there was no way he was even going to attempt to teach something like the Foe-Hammer curse to the majority of the school, for instance, however intriguing it looked – but there were several spells in there that he thought would suit Dumbledore's purposes nicely. He just needed to pluck up the courage to actually teach them, which was easier said than done.

Umbridge's classes had not improved. The only saving grace was that the work was so easy there was little in the way of homework, so Harry was, for the first time he could remember, managing to avoid all-nighters on potions essays. He supposed that was good, although putting work in for Snape rather went against everything Harry stood for. He was determined to ace his O.W.L. though, if only to spite the potions master. Transfiguration was coming ever more naturally to him now, although that didn't help his essays. He might be able to transfigure water into wine, but that didn't mean he understood how he was doing it. Charms was much the same, although oddly he found the theory easier for that class. Ron had opined that it was due to Flitwick being 'less of a catty bitch', which Harry had felt was a little unfair to McGonagall, however stern she might be. Divination and Care of Magical Creatures remained entertaining and relaxing, while Ancient Runes was piling on the work so fast that Harry was beginning to think some sort of duplication spell had been cast. History of Magic, of course, remained an hour set aside for catching up on sleep, or finishing other work. Really, Harry was surprisingly well rested for a fifth year. It was infuriating Hermione, who seemed to have twice his work load, but he was remaining calm about it.

Ron was practising a charm they had learnt earlier that day, animating paper aeroplanes and sending them flying towards other people. There were quite a few of them circling the room, and Seamus was languidly using them for target practice. He clipped one with a purple jet of light, and the plane exploded in a cloud of confetti, sprinkling directly over Lavender Brown. She giggled, batting it out of her hair, and Harry grinned as he watched. Lavender hadn't been smiling much this term; she was missing Parvati almost as much as he was, in a way.

Hermione looked up at the noise, and frowned. "Ron, you shouldn't be encouraging them. They could at least wait until after dinner!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's just a bit of fun, Hermione. You remember fun? It's what you have when you're not buried in a textbook. Same goes for you, Harry."

"This is quite interesting actually, mate. Did you know there's a spell that can turn someone's kneecaps backwards? Not exactly a duel finisher, but I can't imagine it'd be fun dealing with that…" Harry looked up at his friends. "What do you think? Add it to the list?"

Hermione looked faintly disgusted. "How does someone come up with a spell like that? Who sat down and thought, 'What the world needs is a way to flip kneecaps.' I mean honestly, did they have nothing better to do?"

"I dunno, I think it sounds pretty cool." Ron jabbed his wand at an imaginary opponent. "Imagine doing it to Filch!" The caretaker had docked Ron two house-points for tracking mud into the castle the previous day; Ron was still bitter, despite winning them back in Charms that afternoon. Harry shook his head in amusement, and scribbled the incantation and wand movements down. It wasn't something he'd teach everyone, but maybe those who were doing well in a session could learn something fun.

Hermione sighed. "You really shouldn't hold grudges like that, Ron. It's not a healthy state of mind."

Ron ignored her, lost in mildly vengeful fantasies, and she turned back to Harry. "When are you going to start this club up, anyway? I want to see what we're going to be learning! I wish you'd let me help…"

"I will, I told you. But I want to see what people are capable of before we load them up with too many spells. There's no point teaching them an amazing new jinx every week if they can't manage a Stunning spell. And I'm probably going to get Dumbledore to start it on Halloween, before the Feast. Bit of a treat for everyone, you know."

"Cool," Ron butted in. "That'll build my appetite up nicely that will!"

"If it does, I'm stunning you until we've all got our helpings, ok?" Harry retorted. Ron flicked his wand, muttering something, and Harry groaned as static ran through his hair, shooting it up on end. Ron had learnt the spell from the twins over the summer; they had been getting everyone in the Burrow with it, and Harry was starting to think they might actually have invented it themselves. He glared at his friend as he tried to make his hair lie flat again. "No fair, jinxing me when I'm relaxing!"

"Stop whinging – constant vigilance, remember?" Ron told him with a grin. He laughed as Harry stuck two fingers up at him.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed, drawing her wand smoothly and tapping Harry's scalp with it. His hair fell down once more, and he smiled at her.

"Thank you. Nice to know someone's on my side!"

"I'm not, Ron's right. You ought to have learned to keep your wand to hand at all times by now," she responded tartly, causing Ron to let out a bark of laughter. Harry shot her a look of betrayal, and she sniffed dismissively before turning back to her work.

Harry returned to his own book, muttering grumpily. He flicked through another few spells, turning up a page corner at a rather nasty looking curse, then closed the book. "That'll do, I think. Twenty spells…think that's enough? Should be alright for a couple of weeks, at least."

Hermione smiled fondly at him. "It will be fine, Harry, stop worrying about it. I keep telling you, you'll be brilliant."

"Wish I had your confidence…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry stared out over the sea of students, and hoped that they couldn't see him sweat.

There were hundreds of them! It looked like the entire school had turned out. Dumbledore had warned him, he supposed, but he hadn't taken the Headmaster seriously. He really needed to remember how famous he was, at times.

Dumbledore had swept the tables to the side of the room, with a single duelling stage where the staff table would have been. There would be more for future sessions, but for now people were just standing in clumps around the room. A lot of the students were chattering excitedly, but more than Harry would have liked were staring at him expectantly. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. He opened and closed his hands a few times, psyching himself up. At the front of the duelling stage, Ginny caught his eye, and flashed him a thumbs up. He smiled gratefully at her. "Now or never," he muttered to himself, and he strode out onto the stage.

He was rather surprised when silence instantly fell across the room. Off hand, Dumbledore and Snape were the only people he could think of who achieved similar effects – although Voldemort probably managed it as well, now he thought of it. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and began to talk.

"Um, hi."

In front of him, Hermione closed her eyes in despair, and he tried again.

"Well, welcome to the Duelling Association." He swallowed again, and cast his mind about desperately for something to break the ice. "Those of you who've been here a while probably remember the last time the club ran; hopefully it'll be running a little smoother this time!"

A small ripple of laughter ran through those in the crowd who remembered Lockhart's catastrophic attempts to teach them to duel, and Harry spoke on, emboldened by this success.

"So yeah, um, well, over the next few months, we're going to be teaching everyone a few things about duelling. Obviously, I guess. I've already got a few helpers, but if anyone else from fifth year or above wants to help out, have a word with Hermione at the end of the session, ok?" He paused to let Hermione stand up, then carried on, warming to his theme. "You all know what's out there. That Voldemort – " he paused while the gasps died down, sighing irritably. "That Voldemort is out there, ready to fight. We all need to know how to defend ourselves; there's no reason any wizard or witch can't do a few basic self-defence spells, you don't have to be an Auror or anything, and you can't always rely on someone being there to protect you. I'm not going to expect you to go out and tackle Voldemort head on, of course, but there's only so much you can learn in the classroom…"

There were a few chuckles, and Harry allowed himself a small smile. He didn't really need to mention Umbridge by name.

"So yeah, we'll be meeting once a week, we'll all do a bit of training and hopefully have a bit of fun as well! We're not going to work on too much tonight, just a couple of basics to start us off. So, erm…if you could all pair off, that'd be great."

He paused while everyone shuffled around, and glowing lines appeared on the floor within the various groups, giving them a training spot. Ron slouched onto the stage, carrying a couple of cushions which he dropped behind him, and he faced Harry with a slightly apprehensive look. He had been volunteered to be the training dummy for the day. When everyone had settled down, Harry smiled at them all.

"Great. Now, some of you may already know these spells, in which case I apologise, but it never hurts to practise. To those of you who don't – if you learn nothing else from the club but these two spells, that's fine, but you absolutely _need_ these two. They're the bread and butter of any wizard or witch's grimoire.

"First of all, the Stunning spell. Fairly simple to cast – there's no real wand movement for it, you just point your wand at your opponent, like so…" He turned away from the crowd, and assumed the en guarde position, aiming his wand at Ron's chest. Ron shuffled, bracing himself. "Then the incantation, _Stupefy!_" The red light hit Ron square in the chest, and he fell backwards onto the cushions, unconscious. Harry turned back to the crowd. "As you can see, it's a simple, reliable spell. There are drawbacks though – specifically, if it's not a one-on-one duel, then your opponent isn't likely to stay down for long." He turned back to Ron, and cancelled the spell. His friend sat up, rubbing his shoulder where he had overshot the cushions slightly.

"Like I said, it's not a perfect spell, but if you can't master this then you might as well not even attempt the more advanced spells." He winced a bit as he realised how judgemental that could sound, but forged on. "So, why don't you guys have a go? A few of us'll be wandering around giving tips, and waking people up if necessary. We're not expecting you to master it straight off!"

He hopped down from the stage, and set off round the hall as the pairs faced each other, Ron, Hermione and the twins setting off as well. As he walked, Harry felt a wave of relief that Dumbledore had suggested the training lines. He had set them up so that the spells wouldn't go beyond the barriers formed by the lines, and it was a good job he had – there was a lot of poor spellwork, with jets of light flying everywhere. Only about half the spells were connecting at all, and of those not all were actually knocking people out. He enervated a few people, and passed on a few tips, winding his way around the room back to the stage. He checked his watch, and called for attention. Most people did not stop, caught up in their own fun, and he let off a bang from his wand.

"Thank you. Ok guys, some good stuff there. A lot of room for improvement, obviously, but that's a good start. Now, I just want to quickly show you another spell, then you can have a try with that one."

Ron climbed back up on to the stage, brandishing his wand. They had flipped a coin for who was going to demonstrate which spell, and Harry was now the dummy.

"This is the Disarming charm, which will – obviously – disarm your opponent. Ron?"

Ron leapt into en guarde, and then snapped off a decent Disarming charm, shouting the incantation clearly for all to hear. Harry's wand leapt out of his hand as the spell touched him, clattering to the floor in front of Ron. His friend picked it up, grinning at him. Harry nodded his approval, then turned back to the crowd.

"Again, there are drawbacks – it's easy to counter, as is _Stupefy_, and if you've got more than one opponent, then it's easy to get distracted while they go for their wand again. Also, a lot of serious duellists will carry more than one wand, so don't get too confident. If you disarm someone, follow it up with a Stunning spell, ok? Right, go for it!"

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"Well, that went pretty well."

Harry grinned at Ginny, nodding in agreement. "It could have been worse, yeah. How many did we get wanting to help out?"

Hermione unravelled the sheet of parchment, scanning it quickly. "Ten or so. Ernie Macmillan, Draco – can we not have him? He'll be thoroughly obnoxious."

"He knows his stuff though. Put him on probation, if he's too much of a prat we'll kick him out, ok?"

"Huh. Ok, I guess. The twins wanted to teach, but I didn't bother putting them down, because _really_."

"I'll agree with that one! God, can you imagine the chaos? Dumbledore would have me in detention for the rest of the year…"

"You assume Filch wouldn't kill you before Dumbledore even heard about it," Hermione pointed out reasonably.

"True. So, Ernie, Draco – who else?"

"Susan Bones, Daphne Greengrass, Anthony Goldstein, Cho Chang –"

"Well, that'll make the boys happy at least!" Ginny butted in with a wink at Harry and Ron.

"It's true," Ron said with a shrug. "No guys going to learn anything if she's teaching them – unless she offers personal lessons in wandwork, I suppose." He nudged Harry, and grinned lasciviously.

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione said in her haughtiest tones, "You are one of the most degenerate people I have ever met."

"That's my charm, Hermione, you know that. The twins taught me well, what can I say?"

"Give me strength…I suppose it would be pointless to mention that she's still dating Cedric?" she asked.

"Pretty much," Ron agreed. "We're not thinking about dating her, just that she's got a cracking pair of –"

"Yes, thank you Ron, step out of the fantasy," Hermione scolded, a look of disgust crossing her face. Her anger was rather undermined by Harry roaring with laughter at her side. "Moving on…yes, Ernie, Draco, Susan, Daphne, Anthony, Cho, Cormac McClaggan, which could be interesting…John Carter, he's a Ravenclaw seventh year, Su Li, and Marcus Crawley, he's a Slytherin sixth year."

"At the risk of sounding rude, do we really want Slytherins teaching here?" Ginny enquired hesitantly. "Even if you accept that they're not all Death Eaters in waiting, and I do by the way, they're not exactly known for their people skills."

"True," Harry admitted with a slight grin. "Maybe we'll stick them with the more advanced students, what do you think?"

"Might be for the best, yes," Hermione said, nodding.

"Brilliant. I'll have a think about what we'll do next time later, circulate it round."

Hermione grinned. "You're much more enthusiastic about the whole thing. Anyone would think you'd enjoyed yourself."

"I…it's growing on me, let's say," he admitted. It was true; once the initial nervousness had passed, he'd found teaching coming naturally to him. "I'm glad there's going to be a few more helpers though!"

Ron nodded fervently. "Too right. There were bloody hundreds of them! Must have been the entire school, pretty much."

"Yeah…that was not what I was expecting, I'll admit it."

Ginny giggled. "You looked like you were going to pass out for a moment there, it was very cute."

"Thanks. Always nice to have sympathetic friends," Harry commented drily.

"Oh, I'm only teasing and you know it. Come on, let's go get ready for the feast. I'm starving!" She stood up, and bounded off ahead of the trio, who followed at a more leisurely pace.

"Ah, the Weasley appetite. I suppose we should at least be grateful that Ginny picked up the concept of table manners…" Harry remarked to Hermione, with a straight face. She nodded solemnly.

"Absolutely. It'd be really embarrassing if they were both such animals at dinner time."

"Guys, I'm standing right here…" Ron complained.

"They know that, Ron. That's the point. Just ignore them, they'll stop being childish soon," Ginny called over her shoulder.

Harry chuckled, reaching up to rub his head absently.

Then he stumbled, falling to his knees as pain flashed through his skull.

"Harry?"

He clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the pain. It was coming through his scar, and felt like someone had buried an axe between his eyes. "It's Voldemort. He's – he's happy." A picture floated into his head, and he opened his eyes in shock.

"Azkaban."

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**A/N:** The idea of the Star Chamber, (Voldemort's office) belongs to Hellinbrand. Thanks for letting me use it!


	10. Interlude: Azkaban Falls

**A/N: **Warning: contains Death Eaters doing what they do best.

**Interlude: The Fall of Azkaban**

The high tower of Azkaban reached into the stormy clouds above the North Sea, cloaked in shadow and mystery.

After Evan Rosier's escape two years previously, and Voldemort's return, there had been a few changes in security. There was now a squadron of broomstick mounted hit wizards patrolling the skies around the island, layered in warming charms to avoid hypothermia. There was a heavier Auror presence on the island itself, and more checks at the pier. Its reputation as impregnable had been tarnished, and great lengths had been taken to reinforce this image.

The Death Eaters approaching were determined to tear it down once and for all.

After Barty Crouch had been outed as a spy for Voldemort, the Ministry had interviewed everyone he had ever had contact with. From his tailor all the way to his father, who had treated the Law Enforcement wizard with a certain amount of contempt, all possible connections that he could still utilise had been scrutinised as thoroughly as possible. Their loyalties had been ascertained, and they had been checked for any signs of magical influence.

Nobody had thought that Crouch may have had incriminating photos of a particular official.

Passes, guard rotas, and access to Azkaban had been arranged. Crouch himself had ducked out of the raid, claiming to be more of a facilitator than a hands on type, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to care. It had been far, far too long since he had really been able to cut loose.

The boat docked at the end of the pier, with a reception committee of three Aurors and a pack of Dementors. Usually, this would have been quite enough; the Dementors would have overwhelmed any sort of attack, and the Aurors would quickly have mopped things up. Tonight, however, things would not go according to plan.

Sirius climbed out of the boat gracefully, watching as Rosier actually leapt from the boat with an almost feral grin on his face. The other Death Eater seemed far too happy to be back in the place he had spent so many years, although Sirius could understand the desire to tear the prison down one brick at a time. The guards shuffled at their position, watching the new arrivals warily. Crouch's contact had announced the impending visit, before – hopefully, for his sake – covering his tracks thoroughly. It had been necessary; unexpected visits would have been fired upon before reaching land.

Rosier strolled down the pier, Sirius following close behind, and the senior guard stepped forward, his wand raised and glowing brightly.

"Auror Evans, is it? Welcome to Azkaban. First time here is it?"

"Oh no, I've been here before. Spent quite a lot of time here, actually. Slater, isn't it?" There was an undisguised glee in Rosier's voice, and Sirius concealed his irritation. If they moved too early…

Slater's brow furrowed in confusion. "Yes sir – have we met?"

Rosier breathed deeply, and let out a little giggle. "Oh yes. Yes, yes indeed. I remember you well."

The other Aurors had clearly picked up that something was wrong, and were beginning to shift their hands to their wands. Sirius sighed, and checked his pocket watch. Fortunately, they were running to schedule. It was time to go.

"Don't worry, Slater, my friend's a little seasick. Too much Pepper-Up, you know." The lies came smoothly, as they always had, and the Auror nodded dubiously.

"That…makes sense, I guess…"

Rosier and Sirius exchanged a look, and Sirius shrugged. "Really? I thought it sounded like complete bollocks, personally, but whatever you say. _Cremo!_"

The massive fireball leapt from the tip of his wand, drawing startled yells as the guards dived out of the way. Above them, Sirius saw the aerial patrol shift pattern as they noticed what was going on, and he reached into his robes. "Go get them."

The Dementors watched as he drew out an innocuous looking stone. Crouch's contact had smuggled in a message from Voldemort; when the Dementors had realised the Dark Lord had returned, they hadn't even paused before switching his side. The stone – a piece of Azkaban's foundations, keyed to all the magic around the island – merely confirmed their allegiance. Their cloying presence vanished abruptly as they swooped into the sky, and Sirius smiled as he imagined the sudden terror of the aerial patrol. In the distance, one fell from his broom, and vanished into the choppy waters far below.

"My God," breathed Slater, watching in horror.

"Our God, maybe," Sirius countered. He nodded at Rosier, and the Death Eater flicked his wand. Slater was torn in two, and Rosier stalked forward, pacing through the man's blood and tracking footprints behind him. The two remaining Aurors scrabbled for their wands, coming out of their shocked funk, and Sirius put two Piercing curses into their throats. He followed Rosier, ignoring their dying gurgles.

"It's good to be back," Rosier commented, looking up to watch the aerial patrol die. Sirius grunted, turning his back and raising his wand. He shot off a beam of painfully bright light, a beacon in the dark sky, and other figures on brooms gradually appeared. First to land was Spitewinter's second in command, Snitterfield. He grinned at Sirius as the other Knights landed behind him.

"We good to go?"

"We are indeed. You know your targets?"

"Yes sir. We'll see you back outside." Snitterfield saluted respectfully, and Sirius smirked.

"Then good hunting."

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Sirius and Rosier made straight for the central hub of the tower. The Knights separated behind them, heading to their own destinations. Their mission was secondary, albeit important. The real targets were at the very top of the tower. The central column was barred with massive iron doors that were, in theory, impossible to open without specific spells and keys, whether you were inside or outside the column. To make matters worse, each key was enchanted so that only one individual guard could use it. Crouch's contact had been unable to get hold of one for the attack, although the spells had been relatively simple to obtain.

Of course, the two Death Eaters had something better; the allegiance of three quarters of the island's population.

Sirius raised the stone again, murmuring a few words as he did so. The stone pulsed brightly for a quick moment, and then dimmed again. He pocketed the stone once more, and they waited patiently. It wasn't long before the screams began.

"I wonder how it feels for them," Sirius mused.

"How what feels?"

"Well, these guards spend all their time on this island, surrounded by Dementors but knowing that next to the prisoners, they're rather beneath the Dementors attention. And then all of a sudden, the creatures turn. All that need, that hunger, suddenly focused on you…"

Rosier shrugged. "What goes around comes around, Sirius. You know that."

"I suppose."

There was a flurry of activity on the other side of the doors, and Sirius released a sigh he hadn't even realised he was holding. This was the part of the plan that they had no control over; there was no guarantee that the guards would try to flee. The Dark Lord had been willing to take the gamble though, and it had paid off. The doors slowly, so slowly, swung open, and the Death Eaters raised their wands, and placed their masks over their faces. Concealment was not the point – they did not plan to leave any survivors – but the looks on the faces of the two guards on the other side were a sight Sirius would treasure.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a rush of air, a slight hint of a scream just on the edge of hearing, and the two guards were wrapped in green light as the curses hit, spinning them off the ground with their faces frozen in perpetual terror. Sirius felt a small flutter of pleasure shoot up his spine, and he revelled in it. The Killing Curse was the ultimate expression of magic, magic with no restraints. Such power in two simple words…it was intoxicating.

"Get rid of the Dementors."

Sirius turned, a questioning look on his face. Rosier was panting hungrily.

"We should do this on our own. This place should be cleansed with magic, not animals. Can we Sirius, please?"

"I don't see why not…" Sirius tapped the stone with his wand, and there was another pulse of magic. "After you, Rosier."

The other wizard bounded up the steps, and Sirius heard him cackle malevolently as he reached the next level. Sirius followed at a more leisurely pace, letting Rosier enjoy himself. Hopefully a quick slaughter on this level would calm him a little for the levels further up. He arrived to find Rosier toying with two guards, and a third trying to flank him. Sirius aimed his wand, chose his spell carefully. The flanking guard fell to the floor, screaming as his blood turned to silver. One of the other guards froze at the sight, and Rosier took him apart in a heartbeat, blood exploding from his suddenly wasted body. The final guard swore, and tried to retreat; Rosier pouted, and tore open two of the cell doors. The bars twisted and writhed like snakes, ensnaring the guard as he ran, coiling round his limbs and his neck. Rosier prowled over to him.

"Running isn't playing fair, you know."

The bars tightened, crushing the man's neck. Rosier twirled his wand, and the bars moved again, pulling the man to one side of the corridor. Rosier cocked his head at Sirius. "Shall we move on?"

"By all means."

Sirius followed his companion up the tower, revelling in his magic. He had missed this. There was little resistance on the next few levels – a few straggling guards here and there, cut down quickly and cleanly – but it was clear that most of the remaining guard force had retreated further up the tower. It made sense; the guards would have to have realised that the imprisoned Death Eaters were the target, and would be adjusting accordingly. By Sirius's rough calculations, there would be about ten guards left at the top.

The door to the highest level was crafted from thick, heavy iron, and reverberated with the magic of the wards. Reaching out to touch it lightly, Sirius had to acknowledge Rosier's skill and power; Merlin only knew how he had managed to escape, even once he was out of the cell. He'd never admit it out loud, of course. He drew out the stone once more, and pressed it against the lock. The faint hum of the wards died away, and the lock clicked open. Rosier giggled, and cast a spell Sirius didn't recognise. The doors melted away like ice under the sun, molten iron cascading away from Rosier's wand. Shouts emanated from inside the main chamber, and Sirius took advantage of the confusion to flick his own spell through the doorway – a spell his father had invented. He stepped through into the chamber as the guards fell to the floor, shaking with horror. Ironically, the spell acted in a similar fashion to the Dementors, making anyone affected by it relive their worst memory, over and over again. Unlike the Dementors though, there was no way to counter it, beyond the caster lifting it. The Patronus charm had no effect.

"Nicely done…" Rosier nodded approvingly as he looked at his partner's handiwork. He knelt in front of one of the guards, who was rocking back and forth clutching his head, muttering to himself. "Interesting…some sort of mixture of Legilimency and the Night Terror curse, yes?"

"I think so," Sirius responded, with a slight nod. "I must admit that crafting spells isn't exactly my forte. One of my father's spells."

"A shame I never met him, we could have compared notes…" Rosier spent another moment gazing intently at the writhing guard, then held his wand to the floor. The stone floor rippled, re-moulding to Rosier's will before tearing through the guard as a spike leapt from the ground. He looked up at Sirius and shrugged. "Subtlety has never been _my_ forte."

"Everyone has their strengths, Evan." Sirius turned away, putting an end to the remaining guards with the Killing Curse, green light flaring around the chamber. He stepped over to the wall, studying the controls fixed to it. After a moment, he twisted a wheel, and a bridge extended towards the outer tower. He lead Rosier across, and the imprisoned Death Eaters began to cheer. Rosier raised his arms, twirling round and bowing to the cells, and Sirius sighed wearily. "Stop showing off; let's just get out of here, ok?"

"Yes, yes, whatever you say." He twirled his wand with a flourish, and a massive pulse of magic exploded from the tip of his wand, blowing apart the cell doors. Those Death Eaters still capable of moving under their own steam slowly appeared, calling out in gleeful delight.

"Black? Sirius Black?"

Sirius turned, allowing a smirk to cross his face. "Rodolphus. Long time no see."

His COUSIN'S husband stood before him, apparently refusing to believe what he saw. It was understandable, he supposed. The inmates were unlikely to have been kept up to date on the intricacies of Death Eater politics, after all – they were lucky to get food. He threw Rodolphus a jaunty wave.

"The least you could do is say thank you. We're here to rescue you, after all."

"Rescue us?" Rodolphus sneered. "Why in the name of Merlin would we believe that? You're a blood traitor!"

"And yet here I am," Sirius countered, "leading an attack on Azkaban all to get you out. All at the Dark Lord's bidding, no less."

Confusion filled Rodolphus's face, and Sirius took pity on him. Fifteen years or so of Azkaban were bound to have taken their toll on his mental faculties.

"I was a spy, long story short. Now I'm not." He paused to consider. "There's a bit more detail than that, obviously, but since so many of our Lord's followers threw themselves into folly…well, he had to rely on those with more subtlety, shall we say."

"And children, don't forget," Rosier chipped in. Rodolphus growled as the other Death Eater approached. It was little wonder; Rosier was carrying Bellatrix Lestrange in his arms, and actually looking affectionate, the first time Sirius could remember such a thing. Bellatrix was unconscious, peaceful. "Poor Bella, Azkaban really didn't agree with her did it, Rodolphus?"

"It destroyed her," Rodolphus said bitterly. "The Dementors…they adored her, always choosing her to feed from. She's no better than an animal now. So don't you dare mock us, Black. I don't care what services you've performed, dismiss what we've been through and I'll kill you."

"Fair enough. I apologise."

Rodolphus studied him for a moment, then turned away with a grunt. "Good. Now let's just get out of here."

"Do you want to carry your wife, Lestrange, or should I?" Rosier called after him, a half-smile on his face.

"Do I honestly look like I give a damn?"

"He doesn't, it's true," Rosier commented to Sirius. He smiled down at the woman in his arms. "It's good to have my old dancing partner back."

"You want to be careful, Evan. Rodolphus was always a possessive bastard." Sirius wasn't entirely certain why he delivered the warning; he didn't particularly like Rosier, when he got right down to it.

"I know, but that was then. You heard him – she's little better than an animal now. He doesn't care about her anymore." Rosier smiled wistfully. "She can be mine, instead."

Sirius stared, and shivered. There was something profoundly disturbing about that, but he forbore to comment.

"As the man said, let's go. If you'd do the honours?"

Rosier led the prisoners back to the central tower, while Sirius hung back. He raised his wand to the sky, feeling a surge of pride flow through him. "_Morsmordre!"_ Spectral green light shot from the tip of his wand, bursting like a firework in the night sky, forming the green skull and snake of the Dark Mark. The Death Eaters cheered and laughed, and Sirius went to join them. As they moved to the stairs, he raised his wand again, and let his magic seep through it.

"_Diabolus ignis!_"

Even the stones of Azkaban would wilt before Fiendfyre.

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**A/N:** Readers! Looking for something lightweight and fluffy to kill time in between updates? Then the DLP C2 (link in my profile) is…probably not for you, in all honesty. However, if you want quality literature then look no further. There's nothing as good as this series, of course, but you're sure to find something worth reading. Don't forget to subscribe!

Apologies for the cringe-worthy error in the last chapter; it's been edited, and thanks to all of you who pointed it out.


	11. Lulls

**Chapter 10: Lulls**

Hermione lowered her copy of the _Daily Prophet_, her face stricken with shock. "How could this happen? I know Rosier broke out, but this is so much worse! Look at this, they destroyed half the tower…"

"We know, all right?" Ron muttered. People had been talking about nothing else all day, a black cloud over the castle. It seemed impossible; strangely, Rosier's escape had not diminished faith in the infamous prison's reputation as much as it had boosted Rosier's own mystique. This had been a much more comprehensive attack though. The tower itself gutted, every surviving Death Eater freed, and the Dementors had betrayed the Ministry. None of the guards had lived. Only one thing was known for certain, and that was not exactly common knowledge. Harry hadn't really felt like telling everyone that Sirius had led the attack.

He had barely contributed to the various debates during the day, too angry to speak. He hadn't thought he could hate his godfather more than he already did, and in a way this new surge of loathing surprised him. He had tried to kill Harry on at least two occasions, had nearly killed Remus, betrayed his parents. He had killed Neville. The fact that he was now apparently committing mass murder in the name of an insane Dark wizard hadn't come as a surprise, precisely. In a strange way though, this was worse. The _Prophet_ had never been accused of erring on the side of good taste, and although names had been spared, it was painfully obvious that none of the guards had died peacefully. The sheer amount of dark magic that had been used… Harry would be the first to admit that some of the spells he was learning skirted the edge of social acceptability, but the things in the article had sickened him.

"I suppose you'd rather just pretend it never happened then?" Hermione asked Ron, her eyes shining with anger. "This is important, Ron, not just any ordinary attack!"

"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot!" He turned to face her, flushing hotly and jabbing his finger at her in punctuation. "D'you think I don't know what this means? You-Know-Who never tried anything like this last time, not that I've ever heard of. God knows why, but he's bolder this time. Azkaban's stood for nearly four hundred years, Hermione, and it's never been so much as scratched before. I know exactly what this means."

"Would you both give it a rest?" Harry asked tiredly. "Ron might not be, but I _am_ sick of hearing about it."

His friends shared a glance, and Hermione reached out to touch his arm. "Harry, you had no way of knowing what they were talking about. There was nothing you could have done."

Harry shook her hand off, but she carried on regardless. "You told Dumbledore there was going to be an attack; what else were you supposed to do?"

He shrugged morosely. "I dunno, I guess. But I must be able to do something useful with this, surely?"

"Like what, rummage round his head?" Ron snorted. "Sorry mate, but that doesn't sound like a great idea if you ask me."

"Ron's right," Hermione said with a nod, "and I know, you never thought you'd hear me say that, but he is. We're talking about _Voldemort_ – there's no such thing as too careful where he's concerned. Trying to use the connection would be really stupid."

"Give me a little credit – I'm not entirely stupid," Harry replied in defensive tones. "I just feel useless."

"Imagine how the rest of us feel," Ron commented darkly. "We're not ridiculously powerful and talented wizards, remember?"

"Neither am I – Voldemort knocked me flat on my arse the last time I met him, and that's not even considering Dumbledore. I'm only a bit better…"

Ron said nothing, but he did not look convinced. Seized with a desire to change the subject, Harry took the newspaper from Hermione, scanning the article once more. A couple of names leapt out, and he sighed.

"I'm glad Neville isn't here to see this…the Lestranges' got out. God knows what that would have done to him."

"The Lestranges'?" Hermione enquired, unusually confused.

"They helped torture his parents," Ron explained quietly.

"Oh. _Them._"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, his heart sinking. So many Death Eaters had escaped… "This war's going to be horrific. This lot weren't exactly pleasant before they got stuck in Azkaban. Can you imagine a horde of people like Rosier roaming the country?"

Ron shuddered. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

Harry threw the paper down. "Come on, let's get out of here. I need some fresh air."

The others stood up, Ron grabbing a last bread roll before they left. As they walked out of the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but notice the way that people turned to watch him, murmuring to their friends.

"You ever get the feeling you're being watched?" Ron remarked under his breath.

"Of course we are – don't you remember Anthony Goldstein the other week? People thought you ought to be out doing something already, Harry, it's going to be worse now. You're the Golden Boy, remember?"

"Hermione, if people start calling me that I will not be responsible for my actions," Harry grumbled. "I'd be doing something if I could, don't they know that?"

"Most of them don't really know you though, they just know Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived." Hermione had probably meant it to sound reasonable, but even though Harry acknowledged the truth of the statement he did not want to hear it at the moment.

"Yeah, great. Just what I need. I'll see you later, ok?"

He heard Hermione calling after him as he walked off, but he didn't respond, and she didn't follow.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The halls of Malfoy Manor rang with an uncharacteristic hubbub as Remus hurried through the main door. He nodded at Dobby, tossing him his travelling cloak but not speaking to him. The attack had taken them all by surprise, and few of the Order were willing to take the Ministry's report as gospel. He marched down the corridor to the dining room, ignoring the muttered remarks from the portraits on the wall as best he could. He was not an overly sensitive man, but there was something very disturbing about nearly fifteen generations of a family all looking at you in contempt. He wasn't even sure if they knew he was a werewolf; Malfoy undoubtedly ranted about the indignity in private, but whether the portraits would recognise him as the source of the bile was a mystery.

One of the doors was cracked open, and he slipped through unobtrusively. The clamour of conversation remained undimmed, although Caradoc nodded at him from his position at the outskirts of the group. Remus acknowledged him, and headed over to him, leaning against the wall next to him.

"How is everyone?" he asked quietly.

"Not good," Caradoc replied with a shrug. "People like Moody are fine, of course, but Emmeline, for instance, and Mundungus – they're not cut out for this sort of thing. I mean come on, Remus, they just took Azkaban out of commission if we're hearing correctly. They're bound to wonder how they can go up against that."

Remus nodded gloomily. He would be lying if he said that he hadn't had similar thoughts himself.

"Where's Peter?" Caradoc continued, looking a little anxious. "I thought he'd be here by now."

"I haven't seen him recently. I'm worried about him, truth be told. He's been very quiet over the last few months," Remus admitted.

"Yeah, he didn't talk much last time I saw him. Seemed a little down over his mission, which is kinda understandable."

Remus looked at him sharply. "What mission? I didn't think Dumbledore had given him anything?"

"Really?" Caradoc asked with a guilty little start. "Oh, I must have been mistaken…"

"Caradoc…" Remus started to growl, but they were interrupted by Dumbledore's arrival. The headmaster looked every one of his hundred and fifty or so years. Remus looked down at Caradoc, his expression saying that they would return to the topic at a later date, and took a seat to listen to what Dumbledore had to say. Caradoc shuffled uncomfortably next to him.

"Nice of you to show up, Albus," Lucius Malfoy sniped. "We were beginning to worry."

"Your concern is touching, Lucius," Dumbledore commented with a flash of his usual wry humour. Everyone in the room knew very well that Malfoy didn't much like the older wizard, never mind worry about him. "Forgive my tardiness everyone, today has been a little hectic, I'm afraid."

Mundungus Fletcher let out a whiskey tinged snort, and there was a ripple of agreement around the room.

"Yes, well, I perhaps understate it a tad," Dumbledore admitted.

"Is it true?" Dedalus Diggle piped up, his voice quavering. "Is Azkaban really gone?"

"Not entirely," Dumbledore said, and the relief around the room was palpable. "It is heavily damaged, and I do not think it will be holding many high security prisoners in the foreseeable future."

"Was it just the Death Eaters who escaped?" Moody asked. He alone in the room seemed entirely calm; Remus suspected he probably relished the chance to have another crack at a few of the Death Eaters.

"As far as we know. Certainly no others were targeted for release, although it is possible people broke out in the chaos. They aren't a main concern at present though, obviously."

Moody nodded, and Dumbledore went quiet.

"What about the Dementors?" Snape spoke up. The Potions master had more reason than most to fear the creatures, having spent some time under their guard earlier in his life. Remus had never considered how he must have coped when the Dementors had been present at Hogwarts.

"Fortunately – from a certain point of view, of course – Voldemort could not entice them away completely." Dumbledore sighed. "For the moment, they are still resident at Azkaban. We know they turned on the guards, but the Ministry currently has too many binds and enchantments on them for Voldemort to recruit them, however much they might like to join him."

Snape couldn't hide the look of relief on his face. "That's something I suppose."

"Well, good that Voldemort cannot use them, of course," Dumbledore said, his expression suggesting he had his doubts. "Although whether they will be truly effective guards in the future remains to be seen."

"I don't suppose there is anything even vaguely resembling good news?" Lucius drawled, taking a sip of brandy as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"Happily, Lucius, there is actually." Strangely, Dumbledore's smile did not meet his eyes. "The wandmaker who supplied the Death Eaters and the Knights has gone out of business. Not the most impressive victory perhaps, but no less important for that. Certainly, those Death Eaters returned to Voldemort's service will find it trickier to do their master's bidding for a while."

"Who was the wandmaker, might I ask?" Lucius asked.

"A man named Grantham. Were you familiar with him, Lord Malfoy?" Dumbledore enquired in pleasant tones. Malfoy smiled, clearly not fooled, and shook his head.

"Any other business?" Arthur Weasley said. "I've got an early meeting tomorrow, so if there isn't…"

"Of course, Arthur," Dumbledore replied, inclining his head. "No, I believe that is all for tonight. I merely wanted to appraise you all of the situation, and to caution you all to be on your guard. Regrettably, we have no idea where they might strike next. I will alert you when the next meeting is due. Until then, I bid you all farewell."

In the last war, there would often have been a more relaxed atmosphere at the end of a meeting, even an emergency one such as this, Remus mused. A lot of strong friendships had been forged in the Order, and it wasn't uncommon for the members to hang around after a meeting for some of Molly's food, or a few drinks. Now though, it seemed like people couldn't wait to leave. He wasn't sure how much of that was due to the serious stakes and how much was due to their location. Malfoy Manor did not have quite the convivial atmosphere of the Burrow. He rather suspected that would be the case even if Lucius hadn't minded them being there. The Malfoy dining room was not built for relaxed, friendly evenings. It was a place of rigid protocol and secretive networking.

Caradoc leapt up, clearly eager to join the crowd leaving, but Remus held his arm in a vice-like grip. "What did you mean about Peter's mission, Caradoc?"

The other man wriggled in his grip, but found himself unable to escape. He sighed, defeated. "I don't know what happened, ok? I heard him talking to Dumbledore after the last meeting, and I followed him. He went to this Grantham's shop, and it burnt down as he was leaving."

"Sounds like you know what happened to me," Remus said grimly, secretly appalled. He had no idea Peter had resumed his career as an assassin.

"Just informed speculation. A former assassin goes into a shop, it burns down, the owner vanishes, and Dumbledore's reporting it as a success," Caradoc snapped. "I can put two and two together – I know that fourteen years as Sirius's chewtoy didn't do me many favours, but I'm not completely addled. And Peter did not look happy afterwards. Although I concede that my inviting him for a drink may not have been the suavest thing to do."

Remus blinked, absorbing that fact. "You invited him for a drink? Or you invited him for a _drink_?"

Caradoc looked at him incredulously. "You find out your best friend's started killing people again, and that's what you're focusing on?"

"Sorry, yes, right…" Remus shook his head. "You asking him out is easier to focus on, to be honest."

"Well yeah, I can get that, I suppose. I don't think anything will come of it though; think I rather missed my chance there. C'est la vie," he said with a shrug. He had always taken a rather devil may care attitude towards romance, although Remus supposed that fourteen years as a prisoner could quite easily halt your emotional growth. Perhaps it wasn't that surprising. Caradoc looked at him, and sighed. "Look, why don't you just ask Peter yourself? He'll talk to you, I'm sure of it."

"I will." Remus let go of the other man's arm, and Caradoc winced, rubbing the circulation back into it.

"Damn, Remus, hell of a grip you've got there."

"It's a gift," he responded ironically.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Faulkner was almost disappointed.

He had never seen his boss, Tulliver, truly worried about anything; the man seemed to default to irritation most of the time. If the attack on Azkaban couldn't perturb him, then nothing could. He just sat there, occasionally grunting as he flicked through the report, while Faulkner stood there determinedly not looking down. Tulliver was a stickler for discipline.

"Fourteen," Tulliver finally broke his silence, and Faulkner flinched. The other man spoke quietly, but his voice somehow reeked of anger, and Tulliver was a powerful wizard. His magic stirred, and Faulkner couldn't help but imagine a snake, hissing and poised to attack. "Fourteen lost," Tulliver continued. "How are the men coping?"

"Not well. They're angry, sir. They want to strike back," Faulkner informed him, trying to keep his own voice level. It was a struggle. He had known some of the Unspeakables at Azkaban, and what had happened to them made his blood hot with rage. Most of them had been outside the prison, patrolling the outer walls. As a result, they had fallen prey to the Dementors. At least the Aurors inside had been released into death, although he conceded that most of them had not died quickly. He had made sure that the 'survivors', if they could be said to have survived in any real sense, had been put out of their misery before their families had been told. It was the least he could do.

"I wish we could, Gabriel, I really do. But if the Aurors know where Voldemort is, they're not sharing. He could be anywhere."

"For now, sir, maybe. But he'll come here eventually…" Faulkner pointed out.

"The prophecy, yes…you really think he'll come himself?" Tulliver leant back in his chair, studying his subordinate through cold eyes.

"Maybe not himself," Faulkner said with a shrug, "Although after this it wouldn't surprise me if he's arrogant enough to try. It might be worth reinforcing the wards around the Ministry just in case."

"Already done," Tulliver told him. "The Minister insisted on it – although for reasons of cowardice rather than strategy, I suspect."

Faulkner nodded. "That's good. I'm going to double the guard down here as well. Anyway, as I was saying, he might not come himself but someone will eventually. He'll need to know what it says, if Dumbledore's right and he really does know it exists."

"Mmm. And then we'll make his envoy talk," Tulliver finished Faulkner's train of thought, and smiled grimly. "Do you think the boy knows what it says?"

"If I know Dumbledore, Potter probably doesn't even know there is a prophecy, sir."

"I agree. Dumbledore's always been far too concerned with innocence. Perhaps we ought to let him know," Tulliver mused.

"Is there much point? Last I heard we were making plans to kill him," Faulkner pointed out, not unreasonably in his opinion.

"Preparations, not plans, Gabriel. There's a difference – although we still might have to. I'm having a meeting with Dolores Umbridge in the next few days, I want to pick her brains about him."

"Umbridge?" Faulkner asked in confusion. "I didn't know she'd even met him."

"You really ought to keep up with the politics in other departments, Gabriel," Tulliver scolded him. "Umbridge went out to Hogwarts a couple of years ago, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Just before the sword disappeared, as a matter of fact. She met Potter then, I believe, and didn't think much of him. And now she's teaching there –"

"Umbridge is _teaching_?" Faulkner said incredulously. "Whose bright idea was that?"

"Hers, and Dumbledore couldn't find anyone better. Anyway, she's teaching there now, so she'll have a much better idea of what he's like. Shouldn't be hard to get a few answers out of her."

"Won't she be a little suspicious if you ask her about him?"

Tulliver allowed himself a grin. "I doubt it. I'm not a rookie, I won't be asking her about Potter to the exclusion of all else. I've been playing this game for years, Gabriel, remember? She'll be putty in my hands, I promise you. And if she does get tricky, I can always edit her memories."

"True. There's no change in the Eye, by the way. No brighter, no dimmer. If he does know he's a sorcerer, he's not doing much with the power."

"Sensible. There's no telling what might happen if he tries playing around with it. Maybe we can convince him to stick to the normal things, and we won't have to get our hands dirty."

Faulkner shifted slightly, and Tulliver rolled his eyes. "You still don't think we should be considering this, do you?"

"Seems a waste of an asset, sir. That's all," Faulker lied, trusting to his Occlumency to conceal it. He had killed before, and was fairly sure he'd do it again – and happily, if he could get his hands on the bastards who had attacked Azkaban. He had never had to kill a child before though. Whatever else he was, Potter was still a child.

"I'm not asking you to do it yourself, Faulkner," Tulliver told him wearily. "I'm sure Crawley would do it, she's been hankering for another crack at him since the summer."

Faulkner found himself smiling. "I can understand that." He could; he wouldn't have been happy if someone had hit him with a car. That didn't stop him finding the whole thing rather amusing. He had never liked Crawley that much, even if she was one of the most attractive women in the Department.

"Yes, well. I think that will be all, Faulkner. I'll come down shortly, say something to the men."

"They'll appreciate that, sir," Faulkner told him.

"They deserve it," Tulliver said softly. "We lost good men yesterday, and nobody outside these walls will know it. We need to remember them."

Faulkner nodded, and turned to leave the office. Before he closed the door behind him, he took one final look at his boss. Tulliver was reading the report again, his eyes bright.


	12. Stepping Up

**Chapter 11: Stepping Up**

"Yes! Ha-ha, did you see that?"

_Yes, I saw. Well done, I'm very proud. No, really, you're a child genius._

Harry brushed off Titus' sarcasm, punching the air with glee. Grinning widely, he stretched his empty hand out, and focused. The galleon that he had just thrown across the Chamber came soaring back to him. With another twitch of his magic, the gold coin began to hover above his outstretched palm, and another started it orbiting around his body.

"_You have now officially mastered levitation. It's not like most of your classmates managed that five years ago, don't worry."_

"Yeah, with a wand," Harry retorted. "And I can tell when you're lying, remember? Admit it, I'm amazing."

"_Yes, yes, alright. Although I don't like to piss on your parade, but that is just a coin. It's not going to be that much use, even if you throw it really quickly."_

"It's a start though. I think I know the trick now. Wait, wait…" Harry lowered the coin to his hand, and focused all his will and power on the coin.

It shattered.

"That…that wasn't supposed to happen," Harry said over Titus' roars of laughter, staring at the fragments of gold left in his hand.

"_What were you trying to do?" _Titus enquired once he had recovered from his amusement.

"I was trying to transfigure it. Seemed like a reasonable idea, given how easily it comes to me… And it doesn't seem that far removed from making something grow, right?" Harry trailed off, thinking. He really wasn't sure about Transfiguration theory, and at times like this he wished he was. Was that how it worked?

"_I'm not sure that's right. When you encourage those plants to grow, you're not making them do something they wouldn't already be doing. You're just, I dunno, giving them a push in the right direction. That's a bit different to, say, trying to change gold into a bird. Although, fair's fair, it is gold – you probably haven't learnt Golpallot's Five Laws yet, have you? Doesn't matter, just remember gold isn't a good base for transfiguration. Try a bit of stone."_

Bending down, Harry picked up a lump of rock about the size of his fist, and balanced it in his hand. Once more, he focused his will, and pushed. The stone pulsed in his awareness, ever so slightly, and began to change colour. By the time it had become a rich green, Harry was sweating, and his hand was beginning to tremble. He lost his focus with a gasp, dropping the stone. It snapped back to its original colour, and he scowled at it.

"_What were you trying to do?"_

"I wanted to make a glass. Nothing too fancy."

"_Hmm. Possibly a little elaborate, but you made a start. It's something to build on, at least. In all seriousness, congratulations._"

"Thanks," Harry said, managing a tired grin. He ran his hand through his hair, grimacing as he realised how much he had been sweating. "Time for a shower, I think."

"_Then back to the grindstone. Don't forget you've got to work out a plan for this week's Duelling meeting."_

"Don't worry, I hadn't…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry strode out onto the stage and clapped his hands for silence. There were noticeably fewer than the last meeting, probably half the number, which Harry was rather pleased about. It would certainly make things easier – he might be able to avoid assigning a group to McClaggen now. He grinned down at them all, still buzzing from his success of the previous evening.

"Good afternoon! Good to see so many of you back again. We're going to divide you all up today, we got quite a few volunteers last week. If you want to split into groups of ten or so, that'd be great…" He waited patiently while everyone underwent the complex political manoeuvrings of who to team up with, who to graciously avoid, and who to snub shamelessly. It took quite a while. "Everyone ready? Ok, Hermione'll assign you all a group tutor, and we're just going to drill the spells we learnt last week for a bit. We'll see how everyone's doing in half an hour or so, and I'll be wandering around. I'll try and speak to everyone, don't worry."

As instructed, the various 'tutors' split their groups into pairs, alternating between the Disarming and Stunning spells. Harry paced around, passing comment and giving tips as required, and resisting the urge to clip some of the supervisors round the ear. The best that could be said for Cormac was that he was enthusiastic, shouting heartily at his group to "Give it some welly!", while utterly failing to give them anything in the way of useful advice. That was arguably better than Draco, who was treating his group with a typical mix of apathy and contempt. He rolled his eyes as Harry approached, and turned away from the other students with a sneer.

"Why'd you saddle me with this lot? They're halfwits, barely know which end of a wand to hold. It's pathetic!"

"Well, I'm sure you'll whip them into shape swiftly enough," Harry told him. "Besides, they're the only ones with the patience to put up with you."

"What do they need patience for? I'm just being honest with them!" Draco protested, looked hurt. Harry nodded without conviction.

"Whatever you say. Jennings, that was a beautiful disarm. Keep it up."

The younger student glowed with pride as he moved back into en guarde, and Draco sighed. "Harry, you really have no idea how to do this, do you? I'm sure my father would be happy to give you some tips…"

"Yes, I'm sure he would, but I'll be alright, I suspect. Don't be too hard on them, ok?"

Draco snorted and turned away, berating someone for some admittedly poor wand work, and Harry moved on. By the time he had got round the room, spending an inordinate amount of time getting Hermione to concentrate on tips and tricks rather than an extended lecture, half an hour had passed. He jumped back onto the stage and called for silence, grinning out at them all.

"Ok guys, some good stuff there, well done. Now, the spell I'm going to teach you now is the final spell that any reasonable wizard or witch absolutely needs to learn. Master this and the other two, and you've got a good defensive grounding – although I'm by no means suggesting you should stop there! This is the Shield Charm. Ginny, if you would?"

The younger girl bounded onto the stage with a grin, and Harry smiled at her. She had been itching to get involved more seriously in the club, although she lacked the skill to really teach anyone yet. Ron had been happy to forgo his position as training dummy, and his sister had leapt at the opportunity. She turned to face him, and bowed in a overly solemn fashion. He shook his head, chuckling, and she flicked her wand in a motion he didn't recognise, taking advantage of his distraction. He quickly jerked his own wand up, calling out the incantation loud and clearly, and her spell ricocheted off his hastily constructed shield, impacting against the magical ceiling. He raised his eyebrows in surprise; the spell had been rather more powerful than he had expected, and he nodded appreciatively at her before turning to face the crowd.

"As you can see, the Shield Charm will protect you against most – not all, but most – of the spells likely to be used against you. The obvious exceptions are the Unforgivables, but there are others. If you're in a situation that's degenerated to that point though, my advice would be to simply leg it."

There was a ripple of laughter, and Harry grinned confidently. He carried on, with a wave of his arm at Ginny. "Some of you may have noticed that Ginny tried to incorporate a more advanced technique, in trying to distract me before she attacked. In her case, it was being a cheeky cow," – he ignored Ginny's mock pout – "but there are any number of ways you can try it. Concentrate on getting a firmer grip on the spells first though! Now, the Shield Charm is a bit unusual, because the better you get with it the more you can do with it. As you saw then, I just conjured a small disc in front of my body, but it's perfectly possible to develop it to the point where you can cast it over an entire building, and affect people, not just spells. It's all a matter of intent, and there aren't that many other spells that can be altered so significantly." He broke off, noticing a few startled looks, and spread his hands. "I'm not expecting you to take it that far, don't worry! Just letting you know what can be done with it. Your turn now! Remember, it's _Protego._"

There was an instant haze of spell fire over the hall, as spells flew all over the room. Harry winced slightly; he hadn't taken into account the amount of ricochet that would be going on. There were a couple of people being stunned by people on the other side of the room who hadn't even been facing their eventual victims – a nifty trick if done deliberately, but quite embarrassing under the circumstances. He let off a bang from his wand, and silence quickly fell. He noted with displeasure that some people had, perhaps inevitably, used spells other than the Stunning spell to attack their partners. Fortunately, there was nothing too serious.

"While I appreciate people's vigour, if anyone uses any spells I haven't asked you to I am going to have words. Understand?"

There were a few chastened expressions around the hall, although Harry was unsurprised to see that the twins were smirking. He held the silence for a long moment, scanning his audience to make sure they understood. "Right. Well, that didn't go quite as smoothly as planned…let's try this; if the trainers can divide the groups in two, one lot practicing the Shield charm and the others attacking. Then we'll have this side of the hall for Shields, the other side for offense. That should minimise things…"

With these changes, everything started to go much more smoothly. True, there were several people who were less than perfect, and Harry made note of them to give them extra practice on the basics. Somewhat dispiritingly, there were a couple of sixth years on the list. He genuinely didn't know how someone could pass their O.W.L.s without at least a basic sense of accuracy. The targets weren't moving, and they were significantly bigger than the teacups used in Transfiguration, for instance.

On a happier note, the students who had taken over training were doing a much better job now. John Carter, the Ravenclaw seventh year, had transformed his group into a squad with almost military like precision, while Daphne Greengrass' students were proving just as successful, albeit in a more florid style. Cormac McClaggen was proving to be a disaster, but Harry was hardly surprised. He had rather thought the older Gryffindor would need to be replaced, and soon.

As the session neared its end, Harry began to walk around again, congratulating those who had done particularly well, and offering encouragement to those who were doing badly. Hermione sidled over to him as he approached her group..

"Harry, I think a few people have got the wrong impression about this. I've heard some of them worrying about you asking them to go out and fight, like they're your own private commandos or something!" She broke off, thinking something over. "That's not what we're doing, right?"

Harry groaned, looking at her incredulously. "Of course not. Why would you even think that? That's insane…don't worry, I'll have a word with them. All of them."

"Thanks. And good session! It's going really well, Dumbledore will be really pleased."

Harry found himself smiling, rather pleased about that notion, as Hermione headed back to her group, fussing over every aspect of their wand-work. Shaking his head, he hurried back to the stage, and clapped his hands once more.

"Ok guys, that's good, really good. I'm afraid that's all we've got time for this week, but before you go, I'd like a quick word."

He paused, making sure he had their full attention before he continued.

"I'm pretty good at this. A lot of you know that, whether you've heard about it or whether you saw it last year. But I'm not an expert, I'm not an Auror. I'm not good enough to head out there and take the fight to Voldemort, at least not yet – and you sure as hell aren't going to do that! This isn't about building an army, I'm not trying to encourage anyone to go off to fight – but like I said, I'm good at this. The way I see it, the least I can do is pass on some of that knowledge to make sure that as many people as possible can at least try and defend themselves if they do get into trouble. Ok? That's all I'm trying to do."

"What about those who want to fight?" Harry almost didn't recognise the voice – Nott had been staying out of his way, and he'd barely noticed his presence at the session. The pale Slytherin's eyes were fixed dead on Harry, as if they could pierce right through him.

"Anybody who wants to fight is an idiot," Harry said quietly, but forcefully. "There's nothing fun about it, nothing glorious. But I can understand that some people will want to. To them, I would say wait." He looked away from Nott, still speaking quietly. The room was deathly silent. "Your parents, the staff, they'll tell you that you shouldn't be fighting because you're kids, and they're right. You shouldn't be dedicating your life to fighting – yes, we're at war, but there's so much more to do. Everyone in this room has the potential to be magnificent, and it would be a crying shame if all of that potential was turned solely to violence. Nobody ever _has_ to fight, there's always a choice."

Harry looked round at his rapt audience, and he grinned at them. "Alright, clear off then. The quicker we can get out, the quicker we can get some food, and I'm starving!"

As the massed students departed, talking excitedly amongst themselves, Harry caught Nott's eye again. The Slytherin sneered and walked away.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxx

Dumbledore was sat at his desk, waving his wand over a silver bauble that didn't quite make sense to Harry's eyes. It twisted, as if trying to avoid being seen. He stood there, watching the bauble spin ever faster under the Headmaster's guidance, waiting for the older wizard to notice him. Eventually, he coughed. Dumbledore looked up – and Harry felt a little spike of envy when the Headmaster's distraction didn't affect the bauble at all – and beamed brightly at him.

"Ah, Harry, welcome! My apologies, I was somewhat engrossed, as you can see. If you will permit me a few seconds to finish…"

"Of course, sir." Harry sat, still watching intently as Dumbledore worked his magic. The bauble was slowly changing from silver to a more golden sheen, and even with the charm bracelet that he still wore, Harry could _feel_ the power in it. After a couple of minutes had passed, Dumbledore let out a satisfied hum, and tapped the bauble with the tip of his wand. The bauble trilled, and slowly floated back over to the cupboard that held so many similar items.

"What was that, sir?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Most of the items in that cabinet are of my own design, but that particular one belongs to Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained. "It is connected to the wards, so that the Headmaster can always keep a close eye on their condition. You will be happy to know that they are in fine fettle."

"It's a definite comfort, I'll admit," Harry agreed. Dumbledore smiled and continued.

"It does have other uses, of course. Did you ever hear about my search for Rosier in your third year, the night he entered the castle?"

"Not really, sir, no. What happened?"

"Hm. A story for another time, perhaps. We do have more important things to discuss, after all!"

Harry shrugged, and settled back in the chair, his excitement mounting. It was finally going to happen!

"First of all, how are you faring with your control? Have you succeeded in blocking out all extraneous sensations?"

In answer, Harry unclasped the bracelet from his wrist, placing it on the desk. Immediately, the magic that filled the stones of Hogwarts pressed against his senses – but not in the relentless assault that had greeted him at the start of term. He could not help but be aware of it, but it was towards the back of his mind now. He sat back, folding his arms and grinned at Dumbledore. The Headmaster watched him for a moment, and then broke out in a smile.

"Congratulations, Harry! You seem to be doing rather well. Do you think you're ready to abandon the bracelet?"

Harry began to speak, but then hesitated. "I'm not sure. I certainly wouldn't want to sleep without it at the moment. Better safe than sorry."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a nod. "There is no shame in knowing your limits, Harry, remember that." He stood up, and gestured to Harry to follow him. Moving to stand in the middle of the room, he winked at Harry, and swept his wand in a wide arc. The furniture began to move, dancing clumsily away from the two wizards. Harry laughed to himself as Fawkes' perch jumped from its position with the phoenix still stood upon it – the fiery bird let out the angriest squawk Harry had heard from him, even when he had been attacking the basilisk. The phoenix fixed Dumbledore with a baleful glare, and flapped off to the rooms behind the main office. Dumbledore affected an apologetic expression, but Harry could see him chuckling to himself.

By the time Dumbledore had finished his spell, there were several stacks of precariously balanced furniture, books and parchment around the edges of the room. Dumbledore took a step backwards, and nodded in satisfaction before turning to look at Harry.

"Well then, let us begin. First of all, I need you to understand that I will not be teaching you sorcery – I cannot, for I am not a sorcerer. Indeed, from what I know of the subject, and I concede that I know little of any practical use, there is little that is unique to sorcery that _can_ be taught. The old legends do not speak of spells or potions, Harry – sorcery is more a state of mind. You know, I presume, the legend that all wizards, pureblood and muggleborn, are descended from the sorcerers of old?"

Harry nodded, drinking in the older wizard's words in silence. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"Excellent. Well, it is my belief – and I must once again press upon you that I am no expert on the matter – that more powerful wizards or witches, such as myself, can approach this state of mind. Consider the awareness of magic that you possess, and that I too possess. You have always been a wizard of great power, Harry, from the moment you were born, but your awareness did not awaken merely with power, correct? It was only once your magic was truly free that you developed the ability to feel magic."

"More or less," Harry responded with a shrug. "I've always been aware of darker magic – I can feel it around places where it's been used a lot, like the Prewitt's memorial. And something felt wrong about the diary, in my second year."

"Really? How interesting," Dumbledore mused. "That would seem to suggest that there is something inherently different…forgive me, Harry, I ramble. It is a sign of age, I am told, although I prefer to think of it as a sign of a healthy and inquisitive mind. Where was I?"

"My ability to feel magic," Harry told him with a small smile.

"Ah, of course. Well, obviously we share some talent in that direction, otherwise I would not have been able to teach you what little I have, but my awareness is nothing as to yours. I can sense the power that individuals are imbued with, but the stones that surround us feel as lifeless as they do to our eyes. As I say: sorcery is a state of mind, not a matter of mere power. If you would, remind me of what you feel when you are not blocking your awareness."

Harry paused for a moment, grasping for the right words. "Well, it's like you said, sir. Everything just feels – well, alive. It's like this beating heart inside everything I see, and it all feels connected somehow – I don't just mean inside a flower or something, sir, I mean that there's some connection between a flower in the garden at Privet Drive and a lump of stone on top of the Astronomy Tower. And I can't explain how it's connected, because I don't know. I don't even really know how I know, if you see what I mean."

"I believe so, yes," Dumbledore said in soft tones. "I wish I could feel what you feel, I truly do. It sounds…joyful, somehow."

Harry nodded in silent agreement.

"Thank you, Harry, that was most useful. You should consider writing a paper on this, it could revolutionise magical theory. One final question for you, my boy: do you know how magic works?"

"Of course, sir," Harry said, faintly insulted. "You say an incantation, and move your wand in the right motion, and…" He tailed off, thinking of his late night sessions in the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't use a wand then, or any particular motion. "But you don't need them, or at least some people don't…"

"Quite right. I have some little talent in wandless magic myself, although the only other people I know of with the ability are Voldemort and Evan Rosier. Of course, there may be others."

"I, erm… I've had a little success with it myself, sir."

Dumbledore's eyebrows vanished into his hairline. "That is truly exceptional, Harry. You are far more talented than even I believed."

Harry flushed slightly. "Thank you, sir. I'm not great at it, only really got one spell working, and that was just the other night."

"Might I see?" Dumbledore enquired. Harry nodded, and reached into his pocket. Coming out with a galleon, he placed it flat in his hand, and stretched his arm out. With an effort of will, the golden coin leapt into the air, and Harry was unable to hide his surprise. It had been far easier than the last time he had tried it. Another twitch of his will and magic had the coin describing an arc around Dumbledore, and the old wizard laughed in delight. "Harry, that is truly marvellous! I have never seen someone with such fine control over their magic at such a young age! I shall have to look to my laurels, I fear."

"Oh, I doubt that very much, professor!" Harry told him. "When I tried another spell, I just shattered a coin."

"Well, early days yet. But you seemed surprised when it worked – you said you had managed it before."

"Yes," Harry admitted, "but it was far easier this time. I haven't practiced since, so it's not that."

"Tell me; were you wearing the bracelet the last time you tried?" Dumbledore asked him, a knowing look in his eye. Harry cast his mind back to his last session.

"I…yes, I think I was. I usually am, just in case."

"I think that may be your answer then. Does the coin have that sense of life that you described earlier?"

Harry looked at the coin, still hovering around the Headmaster, and _felt_ for it. Dumbledore was right; there was that faint shimmer on the edge of his mind that he was becoming so used to, and he nodded.

"I suspected as much. Harry, I am now stepping aside from the sure path of fact, and embarking on a trek through the swamp of conjecture…" Dumbledore tailed off, clearly replaying his last few words in his head. "My apologies, Harry. My tongue rather ran away with me. Anyway, yes; as I say, from here onwards I will merely be guessing. But if I may be permitted to blow my own trumpet for a moment, my guesses are usually accurate. Would you mind levitating the coin again?"

Harry shrugged, and called the coin back to his hand. Exerting his will once more, he focused his concentration on the little shimmer of life inside the coin. When it began to hover, there was a pulse from within it. Harry described the sensation to Dumbledore, and the Headmaster smiled.

"Excellent. I do like it when my guesses prove correct!" He twirled his wand and a piece of parchment leapt to his outstretched hand; hurrying to the wall, Dumbledore pressed the parchment against it and began to scribble away at it.

"Sir?"

"If we assume that there is a basic similarity of process between magic whether the caster is a sorcerer or a wizard…Magic is life, after all – stimulation? Pushing…well, if we call it the 'core' for ease…A reaction between two cores? Hmm…" Dumbledore stepped back for a moment, reviewing his hasty notes and stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Forgive me, but theory has always excited me. Does the same thing happen if you use a wand?"

Harry was beginning to feel a little lost in Dumbledore's metaphorical swamp, but he shrugged and obliged the Headmaster by performing the spell again with a wand. "Yes, sir. It's even easier, of course."

"Naturally, you have had practice," Dumbledore murmured with a nod. "Most interesting…I believe that may be why certain magics come easier to you than anyone else I have ever met, Harry – Transfiguration, Conjuration, so forth. If I am right – and I flatter myself that I probably am – then when you work magic you are not just using your own magic, but you are tapping into the magic which seems to be an inherent part of…well, everything. We do not have your connection to them, so when we try to work magic we are at a natural disadvantage, no matter how powerful any individual may happen to be. Power can of course go some way to bridging the gap, but it would never be a satisfactory alternative, not completely."

He turned back to Harry, slipping his notes into the pouch at his belt. "If, when casting magic from now on, you focus on that little 'core', I believe you will find most magic much easier and intuitive, whether you use a wand or not."

"But not curses and things like that, right?" Harry guessed. There was a little sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes at his words.

"And why would you say that, hmm?"

"Because they come out of nowhere – there isn't anything for me to 'push' against, like there is in Transfiguration."

"Indeed, well done," Dumbledore said with a proud smile. "You have a fine mind, Harry. Don't let it go to waste, will you?"

"Funny, I was saying something similar to the Duelling Association last night," Harry told him with a grin.

"Yes, I heard. I believe it's going rather well, you have my congratulations. We'll make a leader out of you yet." He said it in jovial tones, to soften the blow, but Harry could tell he meant it. He looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm not sure I really want to be a leader, sir."

"And that is precisely why you are suited for it, Harry," Dumbledore told him gently.

Harry looked met his eyes once more, a spark of defiance flaring inside him. "What about you, sir? Hagrid once told me you'd refused the chance to be Minister for Magic more than once – doesn't that mean you'd be perfect for it?"

There was something melancholy about the Headmaster's smile. "No, I am afraid not. I do not refuse the position because I do not want it, but because I always _did_ want it. There is such a thing as too much power, Harry."

Harry frowned, uncertain. He didn't really understand what Dumbledore was getting at, but something told him that he was already pushing his luck – that to probe further would be rude.

"But enough of philosophy!" Dumbledore exclaimed, banishing Harry's thoughts. "I promised that I was going to teach you magic, and I have already bored you with theory for too long. Come, Harry: let us duel!"

Harry blinked in shock as Dumbledore whipped his wand at him with a broad smile.

"Oh shit."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**A/N: **Sorry my update schedule slipped a little; real life got in the way. The next chapter may or may not have the duel in – I don't really have the patience for endless training scenes, so I might hold it back until it would be more of a realistic match. Or I might decide I want to write an epic Dumbledore smack down. You just never know!


	13. Of Prophecies, Power and Death

**Chapter 12: Of Prophecies, Death and Power**

Harry blinked up at the ceiling, a little uncertain as to how he had arrived in his current position. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate; he certainly had the general gist. Dumbledore had beaten him in a duel, to put it charitably. It was the details he was missing. With an effort that felt Herculean, he attempted to raise his head to look at the elderly wizard. It proved impossible.

"Are you quite alright, Harry?" Dumbledore enquired, amusement tingeing his voice.

Harry paused for a moment to consider. He wasn't in any pain, and he could still feel his legs. "Yes, I think so. I can't move though."

"Do not worry, merely a Sticking Charm I applied once you hit the floor," came the answer.

"Ah, right ho." Harry waited patiently for a moment, then sighed. "Any chance you could let me go? It's not terribly comfortable down here."

"Am I to take it that you yield then?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. I'd hold my hands up in surrender, but you know, stuck to the floor?"

"Of course," Dumbledore replied solemnly. "I accept your surrender happily, Harry."

Harry felt a burst of magic ripple across him, and he sat up, shaking his head to clear it. "Yeah…I didn't even _see_ most of what you did there, never mind know how to counter it."

"Hardly surprising, Harry. I have over a century of experience more than you, after all. I would have been a little worried if you had beaten me. In all likelihood, and without wishing to sound too arrogant, you will probably never be able to beat me," Dumbledore told him. Despite his words, Harry would have thought him a little arrogant if it hadn't been for the simple, matter of fact way in which he had said it.

"So…how am I supposed to fight Voldemort then? Or beat him, anyway."

Dumbledore sighed. "I wish you didn't have to. However, while Voldemort is undoubtedly talented and powerful, much of that power comes from external sources. There are certain rituals, the details of which we need not discuss, that can enhance a wizard's power. It is this that makes Voldemort the formidable foe that he is; a magical strength that is truly unnatural and barbaric."

Harry tried to imagine how this could work, and decided he didn't really want to know. Something Dumbledore had said earlier flashed across his mind: "Magic is life, after all…" No, if that was the case, then he really didn't want to know how Voldemort could have enhanced his own magic. He valued the ability to sleep at night. Pushing it from his mind, he climbed to his feet, flexing his wand arm.

"No offense, sir, but I don't quite see how his magic being unnatural is supposed to benefit me…"

Dumbledore laughed harshly. "Well, quite. There are certain magics that Voldemort cannot use, due to the way that he has corrupted his power. Hardly everyday magics, true, but had he not done it, he would be capable of far more. And for all his talent, there are some branches of magic that he considers beneath him, unworthy of his attention. He places his own limits on his knowledge, a foolish thing to do – but it will aid all of us, I believe."

Harry shrugged. "I'll take your word on that. It's what he does know that worries me, if I'm honest. I'm guessing anything violent and dangerous is _not_ unworthy of his attention, right?"

"You are sadly correct, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a wry smile. "But you will defeat him, I am sure of it."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Remus knocked on the door to the flat. It troubled him more than he would like to admit that he wasn't entirely certain he would get an answer. A long silence passed, and he knocked again. Something trembled on the door, and Remus concealed his sigh of relief. If he hadn't been familiar with the flat, he wouldn't have spotted it; a hole in the protective wards that allowed Peter to see who was there, rather like a muggle spy-hole. At least his friend was willing to respond. The door creaked open, revealing Peter, his face blank.

"Remus."

"Good to see you, Pete. Can I come in?" Remus asked, trying not to let his concern show. Peter simply raised an eyebrow, and his friend sighed. He drew his wand – it pained him to see Peter's hand dart to his own pocket – and whipped up a privacy charm. "I am Remus John Lupin, Marauder and werewolf. I have known you since we were eleven years old, and you learnt to transform into a rat to keep me company on the full moon. My most embarrassing memory was when Sarah-Jane Bowles asked me to show her the true meaning of doggy style after our first Order meeting, and it's probably your funniest memory as well. Satisfied?"

He had chosen well. Peter was clearly holding back an ear-to-ear grin. "I'd almost forgotten that. Thanks for the reminder! Don't think we ever told Harry, did we?"

"And you're not going to, are you?" Remus said, narrowing his eyes playfully.

"If you say so," Peter said with a wink. He stood aside. "Come on in."

Letting out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, Remus stepped inside.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"How can you be so sure?" Harry asked. Dumbledore looked at him, clearly weighing something up.

"Well, perhaps it is time…" he muttered, just loud enough to be heard. He whipped his wand around, and two of the previously banished chairs flew towards them. "Please, take a seat."

Nonplussed, Harry did as requested. He had thought it a simple enough question – what was all this about? Dumbledore opened the door of the cabinet that contained his various trinkets and artefacts, and pulled out a silver basin; his Pensieve. Sitting down in front of Harry, the Headmaster held the Pensieve steady in his hand, and with his other, tapped his wand to his forehead. When he brought it away, he brought a silver strand of memory with him. He shook it off into the Pensieve, and poked his wand into it. The shimmering mist began to coalesce into a human figure. Bending over, Harry strained to examine the construct, and blinked in surprise.

It was Professor Trelawney.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore questioningly. "What is it?"

"A prophecy." Dumbledore raised his hands as Harry let out a derisive snort. "I understand your reaction, Harry, but you know that they can be real – you have seen one yourself."

Dumbledore was right, Harry admitted grudgingly to himself. He had seen a prophecy made, by Professor Trelawney in fact. It had been one of the weirder and more disturbing incidents of his life. "Ok, so it's real – why are you showing it to me?"

"Because it is about you."

Harry froze. That was impossible. "That's insane…"

"Is it? Professor Trelawney made a prophecy about you, and about Voldemort, and that is why he attacked you and your parents. This prophecy is why your parents are dead."

"My parents aren't dead because of a prophecy, sir. They're dead because Sirius betrayed them," Harry corrected him, bitterly.

"And he betrayed them because of the prophecy – because he told Voldemort what he knew of it. I have never quite decided whether it was fortunate or not that he never knew the exact details."

"What do you mean?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "The prophecy is not exact. Prophecies rarely are. However, had Voldemort known the precise wording, he might not have attacked you."

"Does it say how I'll kill him?"

"It doesn't even guarantee that you will."

Harry laughed hollowly. "Of course not. That would be simple…"

"Harry, I understand how you must feel-" Dumbledore began, but Harry cut him off.

"Do you? Really? Everything that's happened to me…I thought it was just co-incidence, y'know? Bad luck. And now I find out that I've had this hanging over my head since before I was even born!"

Silence fell. Harry sank his head into his hands, trying to calm himself down. Dumbledore did not push him, recognising the delicate atmosphere. Eventually, Harry spoke again, without looking up.

"You say that it doesn't tell us what I'm supposed to do, just that I'm the one to do it?"

"More or less, yes," Dumbledore agreed. Harry latched onto the words swiftly, finally looking up at his headmaster.

"More or less?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, nodding. "The prophecy refers only to Voldemort specifically – but the terms of the prophecy left two candidates for his opponent. Yourself and Neville Longbottom.

Harry scowled, the familiar shard of pain digging into him once more. "This could have been Neville's life?"

"Until Voldemort attacked you as a baby, yes. Harry, this really would be easier if you would let me show you the prophecy itself…"

Harry ignored the hint. "No."

"No?" For possibly the first time Harry could remember, Dumbledore seemed confused.

"No. I don't want to see it. I don't care about it."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Remus had been able to work his way in through humour; sadly, his well of amusing tales had dried up once he sat down. Peter's flat had appalled him

Peter had never lived particularly well. He was a man of simple tastes, for the most part, and his flat had always been fairly shambolic. Remus had never seen it dirty though. It looked like Peter hadn't cleaned for a month or more. Worse, much of the rubbish was in the form of empty bottles.

"Why are you actually here, Remus?" Peter asked. "I'm assuming it's not really a social call."

"Can't it be?"

"Not if you're going to be this antisocial, no," Peter responded bluntly. "You haven't said two words since you set foot in the hall. What's wrong?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Remus shot back, and immediately regretted it. Peter scowled.

"What makes you think there's anything wrong with me?"

"I haven't heard from you in a month. You've clearly been drinking, and well-" Remus picked up an empty bottle and sniffed at it, grimacing. "It's not exactly a glass of wine with the evening meal, is it?"

"Yeah, I've been busy, and I like to relax at the end of the day. So what?"

"Caradoc tells me you're killing again."

Peter looked away. Remus honestly couldn't tell if it was because of shame or apathy. "Yes, I am."

"The wandmaker in Diagon Alley?"

"I didn't set out to kill him. I gave him a chance to get out, but he tried to kill me. If you expect me to apologise for self-defence, you've got another think coming, Remus."

"Of course I don't," Remus told him softly. "When have I ever judged you, for anything?"

Peter flicked his eyes over at his friend, but didn't say anything. Remus continued. "Why are you doing it?"

"Someone's got to," he said with a disinterested shrug.

Remus arched an eyebrow. "Really? Assassination has _got_ to be done?"

"Don't try that with me, Remus," Peter said in exasperation. "We went over that chestnut years ago, remember? We agreed to disagree then, we can agree to disagree now."

"Maybe. But last time you weren't one of the guardians for a young boy," Remus pointed out, trying to keep calm. "What would Harry say if he found out?"

Peter hesitated, just for a second. "I rather think he'd be disgusted with me. Ashamed. I hope he would be."

Remus shook his head. "I really do not understand you at times, Peter. How you can say that but still claim that assassination is acceptable…"

"I've never said it was acceptable, Moony. I think it's necessary; there's a difference."

Remus inclined his head, acknowledging his friend's point. "True. But why you? It almost destroyed you last time, can't he find someone else?"

"I wouldn't let him," Peter admitted. "The moment I heard he was planning on assassinations again, I volunteered."

Not for the first time in the conversation, Remus was reduced to speechlessness. "You _volunteered_?"

"Of course." Peter turned in his chair, facing Remus head on. His eyes were bright, fierce. "What, you think I should have stood aside? Let someone else take it up?"

"Well yeah, pretty much."

"Like who? Tonks, perhaps?

Remus growled for a moment, before realising what he was doing. He wondered whether Peter had chosen Tonks deliberately; the young metamorphmagus had been flashing him some very interesting – and interested – looks at meetings lately, and he had to admit, he found the attention rather flattering. It would be typical of Peter to pick up on the flirtation. Sure enough, his friend acquired a knowing look.

"Exactly. I've been an assassin before, I can deal with it. I'm already damaged goods. What's the use in letting anyone else sully themselves with it?"

Remus began to reply, and then tailed off. When faced with logic like that, he found it difficult to refute his friends' point. What use indeed? "I don't want to lose you too," he admitted in a hoarse whisper. Peter's gaze softened.

"I'm not going anywhere, Remus. There's no-one tough enough to take me down, you know that."

Remus chuckled. "Nice try, Peter. We both know that isn't true."

"And we both know there isn't going to be a winner here – we're both arguing the same point, essentially. The only difference is that I think it's a necessary evil."

"I know, I know," Remus responded, spreading his hands to show submission. "I just…I just needed to make sure you were alright."

"You're a soft-hearted git, you know that? I'll be fine."

Remus gave up. He had tried – maybe not terribly hard, but if he was honest with himself, he had known before he arrived that it was a futile argument. "At least come out tonight. We'll have a meal somewhere – Moor Alley?"

Peter grinned. "I haven't been there since…Merlin, can it really be ten years?"

Remus nodded. "Yep. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I don't believe it. In fact, I'm just going to pretend I don't know that it's ten years. Alright, a meal out."

"And no more drinking alone?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yes mother…"

Remus didn't say anything more. He knew Peter; knew that Peter would be fine, now someone else knew. "And then after that, maybe you can meet Caradoc for that drink."

Peter blinked. "What? Oh, fuck you, Moony!"

Remus's barks of laughter could be heard from the street.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"I said, I'm not interested."

"Harry, you could find this exceptionally important! Voldemort would kill to know the contents of this memory!"

"I'm sure he would," Harry said, as calmly as he could. "But I'm not interested in prophecies. I'd prefer to make my own way."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and eyed Harry contemplatively. "Oh?"

Harry matched his gaze, meeting the Headmaster's eyes without flinching. "I've never claimed to be a leader, don't much want to be either. I'm perfectly happy taking orders. But I'm my own man. I'll fight Voldemort, and if I have to I'll kill him. But I'll do it for my own reasons, not because some woman said I was going to before I was born."

The Headmaster's face creased with a smile. "Do you know, Harry, I believe that Voldemort has been focussed above all on finding out the contents of the prophecy since his resurrection. Given your tendency to escape and survive his schemes, I do not think he would be willing to risk attacking you again until he knows the full and exact wording. I rather think he would be infuriated to know that you have turned down the knowledge he so desperately seeks."

Harry smirked. "That's just more reason to ignore it. Unless you think I'm doing the wrong thing?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You would sacrifice your principles at a word from me?"

"No," Harry said. "But as the wisest wizard currently alive, I'd be a fool not to take your advice under consideration, at least."

"Harry, you flatter me. But no, I will not counsel you away from this course. I think it an admirable decision. Your parents would be proud of you."

For a moment, Harry found that he had to look away. Dumbledore sat in silence, waiting for the younger wizard to recover. After a moment, Harry looked back at the Headmaster, his eyes shining fiercely. "Is there any way he could find out what it says? Apart from this memory, I mean. Could he take it from Professor Trelawney?"

"You cannot take a memory that someone does not have – and I do not speak of memories that have been removed through use of Memory Charms, Harry. In a sense, it was not Sybill Trelawney who made that prophecy, but the power for which she is a vessel. You know that she does not remember making prophecies afterwards; for her, it has not happened."

"So the only way for him to find out would be to take it from you?" Harry asked. "Well, that basically means he's never going to get hold of it then!"

"Your faith humbles me, Harry – but no, I do not think he would be able to take any of my memories, let alone such a significant one. However, there is another copy of it, deep within the Department of Mysteries."

"How did they get hold of it?"

"Automatically," Dumbledore said. "All prophecies appear within the Hall of Prophecy the moment they have been spoken, complete with the Prophet, the Witness, and the Subject – or Subjects, as it might be. Only the Subject of a prophecy can retrieve it though, and I do not think Voldemort is eager to attack the Ministry just yet. With any luck, he will be defeated before he can attempt it."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "That's something then. Gives me a bit of an advantage over him."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a brisk nod. "And on that cheering note, I must point out that it is nearly ten o'clock, Harry. I will give you a note for being out past curfew, of course, but I am sure you must have homework to do."

Harry stood up. "Only an essay for Professor Snape, and he'll be happier if I don't hand it in, it'll give him an excuse to rant at me."

"Very public spirited of you, of course, but nevertheless…" Dumbledore's solemnness was rather undermined by the amused twinkle in his eyes, and Harry grinned.

"Goodnight, Professor. Thanks for not beating me too soundly."

"Nonsense, you put up an excellent fight! Goodnight, Harry. And Harry?"

Harry turned round as he made his way to the door. Dumbledore met his eyes, and his expression was business like. "I know you have rejected knowledge of the prophecy, but equally I know that to be a pawn of destiny is no easy task. My office is always open if you need to talk, I hope you know that."

Harry nodded. "I do, sir. Thank you. Goodnight."

He closed the door behind him, making his way down the stairs. As he walked, he felt Titus stir at the back of his thoughts.

_So…there's a prophecy, and you turned down the chance to hear it. Harry, you really are a fucking idiot._

"How so? It's not important," Harry replied dismissively as the gargoyle swung shut behind him.

_Yeah. That whole 'knowing when you lie' thing? It works both ways. I know it's worrying you, and it bloody well should! Morgana's breath, have you no common sense in here?_

"Doubtful, you're taking up all the space," Harry muttered. "Yeah, all right, I'm worried about it. But I trust Dumbledore; if there was anything useful in the prophecy, then he'd tell me what it said. If it's just saying that I'm destined to kill him – well, it's not like I can't take a hint. He's tried often enough already, after all. It's my life, Titus, and I'm not going to sign myself over to some mystic mumbo-jumbo."

_Harry, you're a wizard. What part of your life isn't governed by mystic mumbo-jumbo?_

Harry paused for a moment, considering that. "Ok, fair point, but you know what I mean."

_Yes, and I think you're an idiot. You don't turn down an advantage like that!_

"Titus, will you shut up?" Harry demanded. "Just get it into your head that I have free will; I am not destiny's bitch!"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The Dark Lord Voldemort surveyed the Death Eaters assembled in front of him. Those who had been rescued from Azkaban would have been a pitiful sight, had he understood the emotion. The hellish fortress had ruined most of them. When he looked at Bellatrix, her eyes wide with madness and her mouth flecked with drool, he could feel his magic soar, eager to smash and burn and destroy. At least there was some use to her, though. His eyes flicked over Rawle and Dutnall, knelt at his feet. He could smell their shame, and he relished it, for he knew that they were right to feel ashamed.

They could no longer use magic.

They were not Squibs, of course. The magic was still within them, dormant, just waiting to be called upon. However, the years of exposure to both the elements and Dementors, combined with a mediocre ability even before their imprisonment had left them burnt out. Their wands were lifeless sticks of wood in their hands. They could not even apparate. To any other wizard, they would have been useless.

Voldemort was no ordinary wizard.

He stood up from his throne, the green light from the ceiling above him casting an eerie glow over his shadowy robes. Spreading his arms wide, he addressed his followers: "My friends. My loyal, faithful friends. Welcome! Welcome back to life, to freedom! For too many years you have sat within the walls of Azkaban, suffering torment and degradation simply for following your beliefs – for seeking a better world for all of us!"

There were a few angry mutters of agreement amongst the gathered Death Eaters, as he had known there would be. He paused, letting them rile themselves up further for a moment before continuing.

"The Ministry for Magic would have the world believe that you are monsters. That you are criminals. That we shame the magical world merely by existing! Yet they sit there – sit there in their offices, behind desks – and they talk about miscegenation! About pandering to the weak, to the Mudbloods! They would have us breed with them, my friends! Ally ourselves with those who hunted us, who killed us! Magic is _life_. We all know this. How can these cattle, these Muggles, be truly considered alive without magic?

"They demand that we forsake tradition, that we abandon our magical heritage – that we place limits on ourselves to better accommodate the weak. Who amongst you thinks this right?"

There was a cacophony of angry denial, and the Dark Lord bared his teeth in a vicious smile. "You all know the myths – of the Shining Ones, of Tamuz and his sorcerers. We know that the sorcerers destroyed each other, and the wizards inherited the earth. And we know that there were those who were stripped of their power, denied magic forever more. Muggles," and he spat the word. "They were rejected by gods, and the Ministry would have us believe that they are just like us, instead of an abomination! But we know the truth, do we not?"

"There is only power, and those too afraid to use it. Magic is might, and Magic is life," intoned his followers. Voldemort could see Sirius nodding fervently with every word. He spread his arms once more.

"You are the finest examples of wizardry. You know the meaning of your power, and you seek only to spread it. But there are those among you who have succumbed to fear."

In front of him, Rawle and Dutnall bowed their heads.

"I do not blame you, my friends. The Mudblood lovers have done this to you – subjected to torture by animals. I promise you, they will pay."

"Thank you, my Lord," Rawle said, Dutnall echoing him.

"I know what you think, Rawle, Dutnall." The Dark Lord took a step forward, placing a hand on their heads. "You think yourselves worthless, useless to your Lord. Is that not correct?"

They nodded silently.

"Fear not, my friends. Lord Voldemort does not forget the faithful. I will always find use for those of pure blood. Sirius."

The Death Eater approached the front of the room, a silver goblet in his hands. It was engraved with certain runes, that fairly shimmered with power. Voldemort had made himself, during his explorations in Albania. He took it from Sirius, and held it in his left hand. With his right, he drew his wand. A muttered word, and the wooden tip turned to metal, a razor sharp point on it.

"Rawle. Rise."

The blond Death Eater jumped to his feet, respectfully not meeting his Lord's eyes. Voldemort held the goblet next to the man's neck. "Do you still wish to serve me, Rawle?"

"I do, my Lord. I want to make a better world."

"What will you give me?"

The Death Eater had been coached well. "I will give you everything, my Lord. I will give you myself. I will give you my magic."

"Magic is life," Voldemort whispered.

"Magic is life," Rawle replied.

And Voldemort ripped his wand across the man's throat. Blood sprayed, staining the Dark Lord's pale flesh crimson. Most, though, fell into the goblet. The moment the blood touched the bottom, the runes began to give off an eldritch glow. Rawle's corpse remained upright, suspended by a thread of Voldemort's will, as the Dark Lord drank deep of his life blood. The glow from the goblet became ever brighter as Voldemort swallowed, eventually obscuring his body entirely. As he drank the last drop, the light vanished within him, and the runes faded. Voldemort shuddered orgasmically as he felt Rawle's magic add to his own. It was a ritual he had performed many times now, increasing his power with every drop of wizard blood. He turned his attention to Dutnall, and Rawle's body slumped to the floor.

"Dutnall. Do you still wish to serve me?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**A/N: **For a reminder of the myth of the sorcerers and the Shining Ones, turn to chapter 5 of 'An Awful Shadow'.


	14. Mistletoe and Wine

**Chapter 13: Mistletoe and Wine**

"Alright guys, that's enough for tonight!" Harry cried, calling the last DA meeting of the term to a close. The last few meetings had gone incredibly well; most of the students had pretty much mastered the use of _Protego, Expelliarmus _and _Stupefy_, and he had moved them all on to a few more minor defensive spells. He had held out thus far, but had made the decision to show them something fun as a reward.

The various groups mingled back together, chattering in excitement. There were scattered spots of spell-light as some of them showed off, drawing giggles and cheers from their friends. Harry beamed down at them and clasped his hands behind his back.

"First of all – come on guys, settle down – first of all, I'd like to congratulate all of you. You've worked incredibly hard the last few weeks, and you've all improved a lot. You should all be proud."

He paused briefly as there was a burst of applause from the gathered students. They had earned it, after all. As it died down, he continued.

"Obviously, there isn't going to be a meeting the next few weeks, but I'll see you all here next term. Same time, same place. And I hope you have a very merry and peaceful Christmas, and a happy New Year!"

"And to you, Harry!" a girl he didn't recognise shouted. She immediately turned scarlet, and vanished into a group of her giggling friends.

"Well, thank you very much," he said with a grin, "but there is just one last thing before you go. I know you've all been wanting something fun for a while, and as it's nearly Christmas, I thought – "

"We want to see you duel!" someone else yelled. Harry blinked, but before he could speak the cry was taken up around the room.

"Well, it wasn't quite what I had in mind…" he hedged, but it seemed they had their hearts set on a duel.

"Go on, Harry, give us a show," said Ginny from the front of the stage, a teasing grin on her lips. Harry scowled at her, but it was too late. Ron had taken his cue from his sister.

"Aw, he's just shy." He winked at Harry, and cupped his hands to his mouth. "He's just got a bit of stage fright, ladies and gentlemen! I'm sure if you ask him politely he'll man up though!"

"I'm going to kill you," Harry mouthed at his best friend, who simply shrugged and began to lead the chant.

"Duel! Duel! Duel!"

Harry looked helplessly around the room, and then shrugged in resignation. "Alright then. Draco! Get up here."

The blond Slytherin arched an eyebrow in elegant surprise, but sauntered up onto the stage next to Harry. "Why me?" he murmured.

"You're always bragging that you could kick my arse given the chance," Harry told him. "Here's your opportunity."

"Oh joy," the other boy deadpanned. He strolled down the stage and turned to face Harry, saluting him as he moved into en guarde. Harry turned to face him, and mirrored his actions. He waited for Draco to make the first move, considering his strategy. Wandless magic was out; he wanted to keep that particular trick private for now. The various moves he'd learnt from Dumbledore? Tempting, but as Ginny had said, this was a show. Draco was a decent duellist, but if Harry unleashed Dumbledore's spells on him then the duel would be over before it had begun, really.

Before he had time to reach a decision, Draco slashed his wand down, sending a spark of hazy light shooting towards him. With a flick of his wrist, Harry slapped it aside to burst against the wall. The spell left an impact mark, smoking slightly. Draco was clearly determined to win, and Harry made his strategy decision.

Ducking under another spell, Harry twirled his wand, clearly incanting his own spell for the benefit of the audience: "_Aqua Eructo!_" Water fountained from the tip of his wand, spraying over the stage and Draco. Draco, who had immediately raised a fairly impressive shield, blinked in surprise. The spell hadn't done anything. Harry grinned at him, and whipped his wand around. The water on the stage leapt up, spiralling into a column that stretched to the enchanted ceiling. As it towered above them, it began to tilt over, falling towards Draco. He called out a couple of spells, designed to cut and sever, but they just went straight through the water tower. It cascaded over him, enveloping him in a sphere of water.

Draco slashed his wand around, his spells hindered by his need to keep his mouth tightly closed. Harry kept the sphere going as long as he could, but he was hardly an expert at the spell, and it was a strain. Eventually, it became too much effort to keep it up in the face of Draco's attacks, and the water spilled down over his friend.

The other boy snarled, shaking the water from him as best he could, and he sent a blast of liquid ice streaming across the stage.

Harry simply smirked, and with a mental push at the core of it, wrenched control of it away from Draco, catching it on his own wand. As Draco stared in bewildered shock, Harry flicked the stream like a whip, and it shaped itself into freezing coils that lashed out at the Slytherin. They ensnared him, trapping his arms, and Harry pulled on the coils. Draco was yanked off the floor, spinning in mid air as he tumbled towards Harry. As he reached the zenith of his arc, Harry vanished the coils, and Draco plummeted to the stage. He made a decent stab of slowing his fall with his wand, but he hit the ground with a thud. He looked up blearily, and Harry hit him in the face with a Disarming Charm. He snatched Draco's wand from the air, and turned to face the massed students, bowing with a flourish of both wands.

The crowd went wild.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_Harry looked at the door with distaste. He was slowly learning to hate it._

_He knew that hating an inanimate object was a little irrational, but he had been dreaming of it for months now without change. It had intimidated him for a long time, but even the most bizarre and creepy things lost their mystique after a while. Familiarity had bred contempt. He had experimented with flaring his magic around it, performing spells even, and the whispering never failed to turn angry, albeit in an unintelligible fashion, but nothing happened. Ever. _

_Mustering all his resolve, he took a step back from the door, and readied his wand. Pushing all his irritation into his magic, he cast his spell._

"_Reducto!"_

_There was a dull boom, and smoke billowed from the impact point. With a flick of his wand, Harry banished it, and examined the door. It was unmarked. Swearing under his breath, he retreated further down the corridor. "Confringo!" The more powerful spell should have reduced the stone to mere rubble; the actual result was no different to that of the basic Blasting Jinx he had just used. The door didn't even shake. Harry's eyes narrowed._

"_Ardesco! Confringo! Depulso! Bombardia! Deprimo! For God's sake, just fucking open!"_

_None of his spells had any effect, and Harry threw his wand to the floor in a petulant rage. Spreading his hands wide, he _pushed_ at the door, forcing his magic at it as best he could without a wand. With a start, he realised that he couldn't feel a 'core' within the door. It was the first time he had been able to say that since the graveyard. Wondering whether it was something special about the door, or whether it was due to being in a dream, he rested his hand against the cool stone. It felt no different to any other stone._

_He sighed. How was he supposed to do anything with it? Finally succumbing to his frustration, he bent to take up his wand again, and turned his back on the door. He marched down the corridor, and didn't look back. _

Harry woke up with a jolt, and fumbled for his glasses. Looking around the room, he gulped. His room had been a tip when he went to bed, he would have been the first to admit it. Now though, the room looked as if Aunt Petunia had been round it in one of her fanatical cleaning sessions. Clothes had been hung up, books replaced in their rightful positions, chairs tucked in…most un-nerving though were the dirty sheets that had been piled in one corner, waiting to be washed in the morning. His magic had snatched them up and twisted them into animal like shapes.

Harry shuddered, and climbed out of bed. Whatever he had done while asleep, he had done it well; he could not untie the sheets. In the end, he settled for shoving them into an un-used drawer, before heading back to bed.

He was going to find out the secret of that door if it killed him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Harry! Time to get up, sleepyhead! There's post for you."

Harry mumbled incomprehensibly and rolled over in bed, burying his head back into the pillow. Cracking open one eye, he looked at the clock by his bed. Nine in the morning, in the holidays. That was just unreasonable, whoever was writing to him.

Actually, who was writing to him? He had heard from Ron just the other day, and Hermione tended to use the phone during the holidays. Ginny wasn't much of a letter writer, and Draco still hadn't forgiven him for the public humiliation at the Duelling Association. The only other people who wrote to him were in the house at the moment.

His eyes snapped open. Not quite the only people. Fighting his way out of the tangled sheets – not through magic, but simply ordinary restlessness – he pulled his dressing gown on and stumbled downstairs, still half asleep. Dudley was sitting at the kitchen table, munching happily at a bacon sandwich while Vernon read the paper. Petunia was frying some more, and she smiled at him as he took his seat.

"Morning, dear. The bacon will be ready in a minute." She tossed the letter over to him. "Remus and Peter are just getting dressed, they'll only be a few minutes."

Harry looked out through the kitchen door at the understairs cupboard, and grinned. Just when he thought he'd seen everything magic had to offer, it did something else. With no spare bedroom, the Dursleys' tended not to entertain. On this occasion though, they had invited the two Marauders over for Christmas, and instead of getting Harry to move into Dudley's room, the two wizards had simply transfigured the cupboard. It now contained two four-poster beds, a walk in dressing room, and an en-suite bathroom. Petunia had been delighted with the magic, and eagerly asked them if they could do some renovation around the house; she had been most disappointed to find that such magic would not last long.

Still grinning, Harry tore open the envelope, and a thick piece of parchment fell out. He had been right; he recognised Parvati's distinctive handwriting.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written, but I've been so busy. School here seems very different to Hogwarts – I swear we've got twice as much work, at least! The teachers are nice though. _

_It seems very strange not to be at Hogwarts in the lead up to Christmas. I'm used to all that snow, but it's so much warmer here, even in winter. We haven't had any snow yet, and Padma's really annoyed that she hasn't been able to throw a snowball at me!_

_What have you been up to? You don't really make the papers here, although people have still heard of you. I'm assuming you're still in school? I hope so, but I know you: you were probably desperate to get out there and help, right? Hermione and the others had better have talked some sense into you! Mum and dad won't tell Padma and I much about what's going on, but that just makes it worse. We know that if things were going well then they wouldn't be so secretive. Is it true that Azkaban was destroyed? I can't quite believe that, I must admit. _

_Give Lavender a hug from me next time you see her, will you? I miss her terribly._

_Speaking of missing people…it's funny. Do you remember the last time we saw each other, in Diagon Alley? I said that maybe the war would be over by Christmas, and that we'd be coming back to England. I guess it's a good job they don't offer Divination as a subject here! But…I'm starting to like it here. It's peaceful, which makes a nice change. And a boy asked me out. Harry, I know you probably don't want to know about it, but I don't think it's fair not to tell you. He's nice. Kind of cute. We're just going to go for a drink. I'm sorry, I really am. I hope you don't hate me too much. Of course, maybe I'm being silly and you don't mind. I hope so. If not…it's Christmas! Go and snog someone under the mistletoe!_

_I hope you're alright, I really do. Take care. Give my love to everyone. Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Yours,_

_Parvati x_

Harry stared at the parchment for a while after finishing it. Did he mind that she was considering dating again? He really wasn't sure; in all honesty, he had barely had time to think about Parvati in recent weeks, swamped with school work, the DA, and his own personal training, whether on his own or more sporadically with Dumbledore. The excitement that he had felt on realising the letter was probably from her was more the novelty of it than anything else. He was a little hurt that she'd chosen Christmas Eve to tell him, although she presumably couldn't be sure when her letter would arrive precisely – maybe he was being too harsh with her on that score.

"Harry?"

Dragging himself back to reality, he realised that his aunt was standing over him with a large bacon sandwich on a plate. He smiled at her and took it, chewing thoughtfully. She looked at him, puzzled, but didn't say anything, turning to her own breakfast.

"You alright?" Dudley muttered, leaning across.

"Letter from Parvati," Harry said with a shrug. "She's apologising, says she's going on a date with someone."

"Bummer," Dudley commented sympathetically. "How you feeling?"

"Dunno, really," Harry said. "Hadn't given her much thought for a while, if I'm honest. I'm a little disappointed, I guess."

"Probably for the best in the long run. Long distance is no way to run a relationship, mate."

"And you're the expert are you?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Hey, Sheila Jefferson was practically throwing herself at me at the disco the other week!" Dudley said defensively.

Harry opened his mouth to respond derisively, but paused. From what he remembered of Sheila, having her throw herself at you wasn't a good thing, but it suddenly occurred to him that, wrapped up in the magical world as he was, he hadn't seen her in nearly three years. She only lived two streets away – they'd never been close, but they had played together every once in a while. Dudley nodded, apparently reading her thoughts.

"Yeah, been a while since you've seen her, right? She's grown up a bit, lot less spoilt now. She's a nice girl." He blushed, ever so slightly. "I was thinking of asking her out actually, since we're on the subject."

Harry smiled. His cousin had never been terribly comfortable socially, away from his close friends and family. It was good to see him developing a little confidence. "Go for it. You'd be good together, if she has grown up."

"Cheers, bro," Dudley said with a pleased smile.

"Bro?"

"What, it's cool!" Dudley protested.

"Uh-huh." Harry stretched it out, emphasising his disbelief. "Whatever you say, Dud…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

As they arrived at the Burrow on Boxing Day, Harry watched in amusement as his family's jaws fell open. They had never experienced a real magical Christmas before, although the Marauders had always tried to do something spectacular to the Christmas tree. Of course, it helped that Ottery St. Catchpole was covered in a thick blanket of snow, giving the entire village an otherworldly, appropriately magical feel. Obviously, the exterior of the ramshackle house was little changed. Even on the outskirts of the village, too much extravagance would have attracted unwanted comment.

The interior though, was another matter. As far as Harry could tell, the Burrow had always defied the laws of physics. This was even more true today; the Christmas tree had to be at least ten feet tall, and at one point appeared to bend around the rafters to fit in. It positively glowed with baubles and shining streams of light that looked at first glance like tinsel, but closer scrutiny revealed the truth: they were ropes of frozen flame. Dudley walked over, mouth agape, and gingerly reached out to touch one of the strings.

"Will it burn me?" he asked.

"I doubt it, but be careful," Harry told him. Dudley tapped it, and laughed.

"It's freezing. But they're still flickering! How did they do that?"

"Magic," Harry said with a grin. His cousin scowled at him, and he stuck his tongue out playfully. "Never ask a wizard a straight question, Dud."

"Just some basic charm work," came a voice from the doorway. Harry turned to see Bill Weasley standing there, arms folded over his muscular chest and a broad grin on his face. "Did them myself when I got back. Hey, Harry," he finished with a nod of acknowledgement.

"Hey, Bill, long time no see. When did you get back?"

"Last week, I came home to help the Order. I'm working on the desk at Gringott's now." He grimaced as he spoke. Harry understood; Bill was quite definitely someone who preferred a more exciting, adventurous life than he would have working at the bank.

"Enjoy it," he said wryly. "This is my family – Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley. This is Bill Weasley. He's been working in Egypt."

"Cool!" Dudley exclaimed, and Bill chuckled.

"It has its moment, I'll admit." He walked over and shook them all by the hand. "Pleasure to meet you, welcome to the Burrow. I'm sorry, I forget – have you been here before? I know Harry has, of course."

"Not for a while, no," Vernon responded warmly. "And never at a time like this! It all looks beautiful, may I say."

"Say that to my mum and she'll love you forever," Bill said with a wink. "Come on, let me take your bags, I'll show you where you're staying. Harry, you're in Ron's room, alright?"

"Yeah, just about used to the snoring now." Harry grinned as Bill drew his wand theatrically, and swept the bags into the air. The Dursleys laughed, thrilled to see magic so casually used, and followed Bill and the bags towards the twisting stairs. There was a sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway, and Vernon paused to give Petunia a kiss, drawing a giggle from her – and faux-disgusted groans from Harry and Dudley.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Several hours later, and even Vernon and Ron's monstrous appetites had been sated. For a while, Harry hadn't been sure that they weren't having a secret contest to see who could get through the most roast pork – not that he could blame them. He would quite happily have devoured an entire pig himself, if Mrs Weasley had been cooking it. Conversation had dried up during the meal, for obvious reasons. None of the Weasleys', at least, would dare talk when eating while Mrs Weasley was around. The party had retired to the lounge.

Harry leant back in his chair, watching Vernon cheerfully talk Arthur Weasley through the intricacies of the London Underground, while Dudley was clapping wildly at the magical display going on around the twins. Aunt Petunia was beginning to snore discreetly, her head nodding.

"So, Harry, I hear this Duelling club you've started is going well," Mrs Weasley said, smiling at him fondly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, seems to be. Everyone's enjoying it, certainly, and they all seem like they're learning a lot. Well, not Ron and Ginny of course, but they're hopeless cases."

"Oi!" Ginny exclaimed, feebly tossing a rolled up napkin at him. Harry batted it away with a grin.

"No, I'm joking. They're doing very well really. Even if Ginny did try and hex me in the back the other week."

"Ginny Weasley!"

"What? He deserved it, didn't you?" Ginny claimed, looking at Harry for support.

"I guess so, yeah. Of course, I'm just saying that because I'm too stuffed to argue."

"Oh yeah, right." Ginny snorted. "What's the matter, Potter, can't stand being shown up by a girl?"

"I'll let you know when you actually show me up, alright?"

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, and he whipped the napkin back at her, bouncing off her nose. She looked shocked, and Ron laughed.

"Alright, that's enough you two," Mrs Weasley cut in, although she was hiding a smile herself. "Ginny, go and get the cake will you?"

"Good God, mum, _more_ food?" Ginny groaned, rubbing her stomach.

"Well if you don't want it, I'll eat it," Ron chipped in.

"Hey, I didn't say that!" Ginny protested. Pushing herself to her feet, she disappeared into the kitchen. Harry sat back, tapping his feet to the music on the wireless. Celestina Warbeck wasn't exactly cool, but her music had a good beat.

"Harry, you couldn't nip upstairs and grab my pipe, could you?" In the other corner, Arthur had just succeeded in persuading Vernon to try some wizard's tobacco. "It's in my coat."

"Sure. Don't eat my slice of cake!"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare…"

Harry meandered through the door just as Ginny returned with a vast cake on a glass platter. They almost knocked each other to the floor, but stayed on their feet to scrabble to save the platter. She smiled at him in thanks, and then they both looked round in confusion as loud whoops came from behind them. Fred and George were applauding, with large, evil grins on their faces.

"What's up with them?" Harry asked her in bewilderment. Ginny groaned.

"Up there."

Harry followed her gaze, then mimicked her groan. He had forgotten the mistletoe. He shook his head. "It's just a plant. Back in a minute."

"Harry Potter!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, her voice scandalised. "Mistletoe is an incredibly important symbol, magically speaking. I would have thought you would treat it with a little more respect than that!"

"Seriously?" Harry whispered to Ginny. She shrugged.

"What do I know about tradition?"

"About as much as me…oh, what the hell." He leant down and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. To his surprise, Mrs Weasley began to giggle.

"Merlin, I can't believe you fell for that, Harry," Bill spoke up, shaking his head in amusement.

"What? You mean…I hate you all," Harry responded grumpily as the penny dropped. He couldn't believe that Mrs Weasley had joined in the joke, although she hadn't been shy about refilling her wine.

"Yes, because it's so awful kissing my cheek," Ginny remarked drily. Harry looked back at her, flustered.

"Wait, that wasn't…I'm just going to shut up now."

"Aw, you're so cute when you're embarrassed." Then she put the platter down and threw her arms around him to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

Harry felt himself flush bright red, and began to stammer incoherently Ginny giggled, and sauntered off with the cake. Harry looked after her, and saw Dudley tucking his camera away. His cousin winked, and Harry glowered.

"Like I said: I hate you all."

He walked out of the room, still glowing with embarrassment. At least he'd be able to tell Parvati that he'd followed her advice.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**A/N:** And so ends the token fluff chapter for the story. I basically just wanted to experiment with a purely character based chapter (and ended up writing a duel anyway...oh well). I hope it doesn't fail too dramatically!


	15. The Light Within

**Chapter 14: The Light Within**

As much fun as the Christmas holiday had been, Harry was glad to head back to Hogwarts. Sad to say, he was beginning to feel a little out of place in the Muggle world, away from the magic which was beginning to come as naturally as breathing to him. He loved his family dearly, but after a few weeks at home he was desperately missing the feeling of casting a spell. For a moment, he wondered idly if it was the same for other people from a Muggle background. Hermione had never mentioned it, that he recalled.

She was too engrossed in the _Daily Prophet_ to ask though; the news was not good, and she had entered her serious mode – Harry was not brave enough to disturb her at such a moment. Ron was dozing, lulled to sleep by the motion of the Hogwarts Express, and the carriage was shrouded in unusual silence. Harry say gazing out of the window, watching the valleys and hills fly by.

He was nearly asleep himself by the time Hermione looked up from the paper. She threw it aside, and when Harry looked over at her, her eyes were damp.

"Have you read it? It's just awful!"

Harry shook his head, and picked up the paper. He had seen the headline earlier, but after realising how miserable it was he had intentionally blanked it out, trying to preserve his festive mood as long as possible. He scanned it quickly: _Dementors Attack!_ Four Muggle families had been left on life support in Edinburgh. The Muggle authorities were predictably baffled, but the _Prophet's_ description clearly identified them as victims of the Dementor's Kiss – empty vessels, their soul sucked out. There was no cure for it, although the Ministry probably wouldn't have bothered to do it even if there was. They would try and stop attacks happening, but were notoriously lax about taking care of any victims afterwards, beyond mind wipes and enforcing the Statute of Secrecy.

Further reading suggested that the Dementors had been in the area for several weeks. It was the perfect way to conceal them, Harry had to admit. Scotland, in the middle of winter? Even when the levels of fog and cold reached unbelievable levels, nobody had thought anything of it, beyond complaining about the weather. Whatever else he was, Voldemort was not an idiot. Harry sighed and folded the paper again, unable to face reading much more.

"At least we know they're serving him now. Maybe Fudge will authorise more intensive measures…"

"I doubt it, they didn't even have magical children," Hermione spat heatedly.

"That's not fair," Harry started to argue, but Hermione cut him off.

"Yes it is, and you know it. I'm not saying the Ministry hates Muggles, or anything like that – they just don't care."

She fixed her gaze on him, waiting for him to respond, but there wasn't really much he could say. "It'll change, you'll see. We'll change it."

"What, the three of us?" Hermione didn't even try to hide her scepticism.

"No, our generation. I reckon there are more half-bloods and Muggleborns at Hogwarts than Purebloods these days. Not many more, maybe, but still. We'll change it."

Finally, his friend smiled. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Of course," he said, projecting as much confidence into his voice as he could. Hermione leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you," she said. He hugged her back, feeling a little awkward, before she retreated.

"Better not hug you for too long. Ginny might get jealous"

Harry blinked at her. "Wait, what? Why would she be jealous of you hugging me?"

"Oh, I thought the two of you kissed over Christmas?" Hermione was obviously trying to sound innocent, but there was a gleam in her eyes. Harry ripped out a page from the paper, screwed it up in a ball and tossed it at her. It bounced off her nose and she laughed. "Oh, but it sounds so sweet! I'm sure you'd make a lovely couple…"

"Do you want to be my opponent next time they ask me to show off at the DA?" Harry asked levelly.

For a moment, Hermione seemed to be giving serious consideration to the prospect, but eventually she shook her head. "No, not just yet. I'll be quiet."

"Excellent!" Harry turned to look over the Quidditch scores, but could still hear her as she sniggered. Scowling, he ignored her. Ron woke up as they pulled into Hogsmeade, and they dragged their trunks down from the rack to head up to the castle. Before they left, Harry took one last look at the front page. Frowning slightly, he ripped the article out, and tucked it into his robes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

On the day of the first DA meeting of the term, Harry ended up running late, for the first time since he had started it. Snape had been in a foul mood, and when Harry had spilled some of his potion, the full weight of Snape's attention had fallen upon him. He was starting to think that the potions master was actually physically incapable of saying anything nice about anybody. He supposed that he should really have expected it – Snape had all but ignored him recently, so he was probably overdue an encounter.

It did mean though that Theodore Nott almost knocked him to the floor as he burst out of the Great Hall. The Slytherin paused mid-stride, but when he realised who he had bumped into, he began to pace off once more, without speaking.

"Hey!" Harry called indignantly after him. "Watch where you're going, will you?"

Nott whirled round and strode back to Harry, his face like thunder. Before Harry could react, Nott had grabbed his robes and pushed him against the wall. "Shut up, Potter. This is all your fault, so don't you dare tell me what to do!"

"_Relashio!_" Harry spat. Nott – who had not noticed Harry's wand poking into his stomach – flew backwards as the spark ran through his body. He ended up sprawled on the floor, but his wand appeared in his hand and a violet bolt of light erupted from the tip. It soared over Harry's shoulder, and Harry threw a Disarming Charm at Nott. It crackled over him, and his wand leapt into Harry's hand.

"What the hell are you doing, Nott?" he asked incredulously. "What's my fault, what are you talking about?"

Nott looked up at him, and if looks could kill Harry would have been a black smear against the wall. "Everything. Everything's your fault. Give me back my wand!"

"Or what?" Harry enquired. Nott's expression filled with impotent rage, and he averted his gaze. "You going to behave if I give it back?"

"Yes…" he hissed. Harry waited for a moment, considering keeping the wand and passing it on to a member of staff, but in the end he tossed it back at the prone boy. Nott climbed to his feet, sheathing his wand reluctantly. He straightened his tie and smoothed his hair back down, and then with one final, furious glare, he walked away. Harry watched him go, completely bewildered by the whole encounter.

_That kid's going to be a real problem, you know that right?_

"He already is. What's your point?"

_Take pre-emptive steps to control it, give him a real smack down. Make him scared to cause you trouble._

Harry snorted. "Nice idea, but not terribly realistic I'm afraid. Go back to sleep."

After checking to make sure that no-one would be able to tell he had been fighting, Harry walked into the Hall. Various people greeted him as he walked through the crowd, and he waved back cheerfully. Ignoring Hermione tapping her watch, he climbed onto the stage and turned to face them all. "Good evening everyone, and welcome back. I hope you all had a good holiday. You probably heard the other day about the Dementor attack in Edinburgh – we now know that Voldemort is using them as weapons."

More than half the people in the crowd winced when he said Voldemort's name, and he resisted the urge to yell at them. It wasn't really the time for it.

"As such, today we're going to start learning how to defend yourself against a Dementor."

Murmurs of excitement flew around the Hall, and Harry allowed himself a brief smile. "Fair warning – it's a very hard spell to perform, and I'll honestly be surprised if many of you can produce even an incorporeal Patronus, never mind a corporeal one. Step one – a happy memory. Doesn't matter what, just so long as remembering it makes you feel happy. Take a few minutes, try and think of one."

He took a seat next to his friends, who were a little ahead, having known Harry's plan for a few days now. Ron was loudly telling them what he would be focussing on.

"Quidditch World Cup for me. Great fun, great Quidditch, a trip with my friends…what's not to like? Best day of my life."

"Should be a good basis," Harry informed him. It's no guarantee that it'll work though, you can have the memory, the incantation, and it still might not work."

Ron dismissed Harry's words. "I'll get it to work, you'll see. It'll be twice the size of yours, I bet you!"

"What memory are you using, if you don't mind me asking?" Hermione chipped in, clearly trying to avoid a flood of testosterone driven competition. Harry started to reply, then stopped. He had always used the memory of Ginny waking up in the Chamber, after he had destroyed Riddle's diary. He didn't really fancy the teasing that would inevitably follow such an admission in the aftermath of Ginny kissing him.

"Need to know basis only, I'm afraid."

"Fair enough," Hermione said. She tilted her head at the crowd. "Better get back up there."

As Harry climbed back up, he noticed Eloise Midgeon not far from the stage. She looked like she had been crying, which would at least explain why Nott had been so angry earlier. He drew his wand and faced them all. "All got your happy memory fixed in there? Well then, step two: the incantation. _Expecto Patronum_. There's no specific wand movement, just point and fire, so to speak. I'll demonstrate."

Pointing his wand out over the crowd, he spoke loud and clearly. The shimmering unicorn burst from his wand, and a surge of joy spread through him, leaving him warmer than he had been in a long time. He closed his eyes for a second, savouring the sensation. When he opened them again, it was to see the unicorn cantering around the Hall in mid-air. Most of the other students were pointing at it in awe, and he really couldn't blame them. Even though he said it himself, the Patronus Charm remained one of the single most impressive spells he had ever seen. He wondered whether anyone else was feeling the benefit of the Patronus. With an effort of concentration, Harry took control of it, making it follow the path of his wand. He brought it down into the crowd, weaving it between people, who giggled and reached out to touch it, their fingers sinking into it.

"As you can probably see, a corporeal Patronus takes on a particular form, something that's close to your heart. Mine's a unicorn, I have no idea why – yours could be anything. An animal, a person…or you could – and this is frankly more likely – end up with a non-corporeal Patronus, which is basically just a big white disc, like a shield. You need to focus on the memory before you try and cast the spell, otherwise it won't work. You're trying to hit the Dementor with raw happiness, basically."

Harry sheathed his wand and grinned out at them. "Right. Your turn!"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sure enough, few people had been able to produce even a non-corporeal Patronus, notable exceptions being Hermione, a couple of Ravenclaw boys in their seventh year, and Daphne Greengrass in Slytherin. Ron had produced a few sparks that might form a Patronus one day; he had been disappointed, but Harry had pointed out that not many people had done more than that, which had cheered him a little. Harry had had to extend the same encouragement to the entire group at the end of the session, reassuring them that it was an extremely advanced spell, and that he had planned to spend several weeks working on it regardless.

As people began to leave, Harry slipped into the crowd, looking for Eloise Midgeon. He hadn't been surprised to note that she had completely failed to produce any form of Patronus – being a tear stained mess was far from the best starting position for such an emotionally fuelled spell. He caught up with her near the door, and called her name. She was looking more cheerful than an hour earlier, but hardly happy.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said, brushing her hair back from her face. "How are you? Good Christmas?"

"Yeah, great thanks, yourself?"

"Not too bad, I guess. What's up?"

"It's Nott," Harry told her. She shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her boyfriend. "I bumped into him as I arrived – literally – and he was just…what's wrong with him? Ever since I first met him, he's had some problem with him, and I've no idea what I'm supposed to have done."

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but he just seems to hate you, and he won't tell me why. That's why he was so angry earlier, he was trying to stop me coming to this because you run it, and I told him he was being an idiot."

"I'm sorry," Harry told her, a little embarrassed, but she waved him off.

"It's not your fault, is it? He's just so stubborn about it!"

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. "It's not like I want to be constantly fighting with him."

She smiled ruefully. "I don't think so, not until he's ready to actually tell you what you're supposed to have done." She hesitated. "Have you? Fought with him, I mean. Not just argued."

"I wouldn't say we've fought, particularly…" Harry tried to explain. "We've hexed each other a few times, I guess, but never full on fought. It's never quite come to that, fortunately." He decided that encounter before the Duelling Association didn't really count, given that Nott hadn't managed to hit him, and Eloise didn't need to be upset further.

"Well, that's something I suppose," she said.

"Are you ok?" he asked her. She shrugged.

"I will be. It's just an argument, shit happens. Thanks though."

"It's alright. I'll speak to you soon, ok?"

She nodded at him, and walked out. Harry shook his head and walked back to his friends. Nott puzzled him. A grudge against him, and he hadn't even told his girlfriend why? Or any of his friends, as far as Harry could find out from Draco. What kind of person held such a grudge, for so long, but never spoke of it and never did anything about it? It could be something to do with his mother…she hadn't seemed happy to be reminded of Harry's existence at the Quidditch World Cup, to say the least. He shook his head, putting it out of his mind. There wasn't a lot he could do about it.

Ginny was still trying to produce a Patronus, her face screwed up in concentration. The spell clearly didn't come naturally to her. Hermione was pitching in with little tips, but he had a suspicion that Ginny did not appreciate the advice. As Harry drew up to them, she gave up, nearly throwing her wand aside in frustration.

"You'll get it eventually, don't worry," he told her. "It's a bloody hard spell."

"Huh," Ginny sulked, folding her arms. "I've never been so bad at a spell. How long did it take you?"

"A few months," Harry replied, vaguely. It was true, although it was also true that he had missed a month of practice for the Christmas holidays, legally unable to practice magic, and that the tuition had been sporadic in any case. "Although I was practicing against a Boggart that had taken the form of a Dementor – I had a little more motivation to learn."

"Well, that's just an unfair advantage," Ginny told him with a reluctant grin.

"You're right; I'll get one for next time, ok?"

"Please don't," Hermione said with a shudder. "I'm all for rigorous practice, but that's taking things a little too far, I think."

"And I'm afraid I would not approve, mister Potter," came a voice from behind them. Harry turned around, surprised. He hadn't noticed Umbridge approaching. Surprisingly, she was smiling, and it actually appeared sincere. She fixed her gaze on Harry. "I must say, it all appears to be going exceptionally well. I'm very impressed."

"Oh. Well, thank you Professor," Harry said hesitantly. He wasn't sure how to cope with Umbridge being nice.

"I've always loved the Patronus Charm," Umbridge mused. "A spell made entirely from happiness, joy…light magic at its absolute finest, don't you think? Showing the light within us all."

"I'd never really thought about it like that," Harry said. "I see your point though."

"Hmm. I never liked the use of the Dementors, you know. I know there's the belief that it's better the devil you know, all that sort of thing, but subjecting anyone, even Death Eaters, to such horrific torture…" Umbridge frowned in distaste. "There are better ways, Harry. Always better ways."

"I don't think anybody here would disagree with you on that score, Professor," Harry told her. There were murmurs of agreement from behind him, and he could see Ginny nodding fervently.

"I'm delighted to hear it," Umbridge said with a smile. "Tell me, Harry, have you ever given any thought to the future?"

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The future. What you will do after Hogwarts, after the war?"

"Oh. Well, I hadn't given it that much thought, if I'm honest," Harry told her. She frowned again.

"You really should, Harry. This is an important stage in your life. For all of you, of course. I have to say, I think you'd do well as a teacher, actually. I've watched some of the sessions, and you have a gift that should be nurtured."

"Really? I've been enjoying it, I guess," Harry admitted.

"I can tell," she replied. "Well, I think that will be all for today. Keep up the high standard."

They watched her go, slightly bewildered by it all. Ginny leaned over to whisper to Harry. "She likes you. She _really _likes you."

"Oh shut up," Harry said with a laugh. "That's the grossest thing I've ever heard."

"Hey, don't knock it," Hermione said. "That was some good advice she gave you. And if Umbridge thinks you're a good teacher, well, you know that's a sound opinion…"

"Oh thank you very much," Harry said with a glower.

"Hey, I always assumed that you'd retire and just relax," Ron offered. "You know, live off your fame. Kinda like Lockhart…"

Ron started running, and Harry followed him, leaving Hermione and Ginny howling with laughter behind them.


	16. Magic in the Dark

**A/N:** Sorry about the epic delay; real life threw me a bit of a curve ball, in many respects, and I fell behind on my writing a little. Chapter 16 is ready to roll, but I'll wait until I've got at least half of 17 to update, I think. Hopefully won't be too long though.

**Chapter 15: Magic In The Dark**

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and Harry's ears rang with the crack of a localised sonic boom. He staggered back, trying to clear his head, and cast a flurry of Banishing charms at the Headmaster. He was still too dazed to see, but the lack of impact noise told him that Dumbledore had dodged or deflected all of the spells. He hastily threw up a shield, and muttered under his breath: "_Fumis!_"

Smoke billowed from his wand, and within seconds the room was thickly shrouded. He bent down, tapping his feet with his wand, and then darted away, his footsteps completely silenced. He found his way behind Dumbledore's desk by memory, and crouched down. There was no way to see Dumbledore he knew of, and if the tactic of silencing his footsteps had occurred to Harry, then he was fairly certain the Headmaster would have thought of it as well. He reluctantly decided that his best option was to wait.

At the back of his mind, he felt a ripple of magic, and something washed over him, a spell he didn't recognise. Before he could react, Dumbledore's desk leapt apart, apparently of its own accord, and a coil of bright light lashed through the smoke and wrapped around Harry's wand arm. He cried out as he was pulled through the air and sent sprawling to the floor. Another bolt of light smacked into his chest, and he felt a shock go through him, forcing his wand out of his hand. The smoke abruptly vanished, to reveal Dumbledore standing over him, a serene look on his face and Harry's wand in his hand. The Headmaster smiled down at him.

"An excellent attempt, Harry, some very clever tactics there." He spun Harry's wand between his fingers. "Would you care to take a break?"

Harry scowled, and thrust his hand at the Headmaster, pushing magic at him. Dumbledore blinked as a crudely cast Hurling hex burst into him; what should have thrown him a foot or so backwards merely made him stagger, but it did make him drop Harry's wand. Harry's reflexes kicked in, and he snatched it from the air before Dumbledore could do anything. His first action was to conjure a shield between them, and a spell ricocheted off it, impacting against one of the portraits. His second action was to cast a Summoning charm at the wall behind him. He felt the spell tug at the wall, but the sheer mass of it caused the spell to backfire; instead of his target flying towards him, Harry was catapulted away from the Headmaster. He dropped the spell and landed on his back, and called out another spell.

"_Cremo!_"

Dumbledore simply slashed his wand down, and the wall of flame rushing towards him was split in two. Dumbledore whirled his wand, and both columns of flame twisted into bird like shapes, swooping at Harry, clawing at his face. He pushed all the magic he could muster into one spell, spreading it as wide as he could as he waved his wand. The two birds iced over, dropping and shattering against the ground. Harry grinned in satisfaction, but another twitch of Dumbledore's wand brought the icy shards up in a vortex of wind, slicing at him, cutting his skin. Harry swore, smashing his way through some of the ice, and sent slashing lines of fire at the Headmaster; he vanished them with a broad wave of his wand, but Harry had already cast another spell.

Just before it hit the Headmaster's chest, Dumbledore vanished in a plume of fire. The chair that he had been standing in front of caught the brunt of the spell, and began to twist and reshape. There was a rush of air behind Harry, and he sighed as Dumbledore placed the tip of his wand to the back of his neck.

"I must say, Harry, I am exceptionally impressed. I do believe that is the first time you have managed to land a hit against me, yes?"

"Yes," Harry muttered. "Using a phoenix is cheating."

"You would not be the first to say so, my boy, but there is nothing to be ashamed of in making use of every advantage given you."

"Huh." Harry sheathed his wand within his robes, and turned round. Dumbledore was beaming down at him proudly.

"Surely you do not disagree? You did after all choose to use wandless magic against me, a tactic I must confess I had not expected. Was there a specific spell you were trying to use?"

"A Hurling hex. Didn't quite work though," Harry admitted.

"Ah, I suspected something of the sort, yes. The spell may not quite have worked, Harry, but that is a duel winning tactic, nonetheless. It took me completely by surprise; I'm sure that the majority of wizards you face would be rather flummoxed by it, and you would quickly find yourself holding their wand."

Harry felt a small smile cross his lips. It might only have been a momentary advantage, but it did feel good to finally be able to say that he had hexed Albus Dumbledore. And the duel had lasted, in the end, nearly three minutes. It was a personal best. As if he could read his mind, Dumbledore smiled.

"You have made excellent progress, Harry. If I may say so, I am very proud of you."

"Thank you sir," Harry said with a slight blush. "I've been practising."

"I should hope so, it is the only way to improve!" Dumbledore declared, peering over his glasses at Harry. "I assume though, that you are not neglecting your academic endeavours?"

"No, sir, don't worry," Harry assured him. "I've got everything under control. I'm quite enjoying classes at the minute, actually. Well, mostly."

Dumbledore's beard twitched, a characteristic sign of amusement. "Yes, Professor Snape never fails to regale us all with your exploits in his classes."

Harry shrugged. "I've kinda got used to him now. I was thinking more of Professor Umbridge. She was bad at the start of the year; since I started running the DA, I now _know_ that I could teach her classes better than she can."

"Well then, maybe once Voldemort has been defeated you should return to Hogwarts and take up her post?" Dumbledore suggested.

"Do you know, you're the second person to suggest that to me," Harry said. "Umbridge mentioned it the other week, at the start of term."

"Yes, she said. It's not a bad idea, despite the source."

"You think so?" Harry asked uncertainly. He had all but dismissed the idea – for all that he enjoyed teaching, being praised for his ability by one of the worst teachers he had ever had did rather put him off the prospect. If Dumbledore agreed with her though…

"I do," Dumbledore nodded. "Although I will admit, while I think you would be a good Defence professor, I can see you fitting more easily into the Auror department as a trainer there. A little more exciting than day to day life in Hogwarts, I think you'll find."

Harry tilted his head to the side as he considered that. As he had told Umbridge, he had never really given much thought to a career, but he could see the appeal in working as an Auror.

"Harry Potter, Auror," he murmured, and grinned. "I quite like the sound of that, actually."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Have you seen this?"

Harry looked up from the bacon and sausage sandwich he was meticulously constructing. Hermione was waving the _Daily Prophet _at him, and he reached out to take it. "No, I haven't. What's happened?"

She whisked it away from him with an annoyed glare. "Harry, you're not getting all that grease over my paper. Wipe your hands will you? You're such a _boy_ sometimes!"

Shaking his head incredulously, but deciding it wasn't really worth the effort of arguing, Harry quickly cleaned his hands and took the paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron staring at Hermione as if she had grown a second head. She had clearly been referring to the front page, as usual:

_**Azkaban Reopens!**_

_After the horrific attack on the infamous fortress, few would have believed that the Ministry would have managed to restore it to full capabilities in only a few short months – however, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge officially declared Azkaban "Ready for business once more," at a press conference this morning. (cont. p94)_

Harry nodded to himself, and put the paper aside, looking back to his sandwich. "Well, that's good news for a change."

"Good news?" Hermione said in surprise. "But Azkaban's always sounded such an awful place…"

"It is," Harry said. "I'd rather die than get locked up there, believe me. But it's not that much of a surprise – I can't see Fudge giving the Aurors license to kill, so they need somewhere to put any prisoners they take. I'm surprised it's so soon, don't get me wrong, but not that they've opened it again. I wonder what the defences will be?"

"We're putting our money on dragons," Fred offered, leaning over his own copy of the paper. "Ramp up the wards and get a couple of dragons in, and then just see who'll be fool enough to try and break in!"

"Or out, of course," George reminded him.

"Don't you think that goes without saying?" Fred asked him testily. George pondered this for a second, and then shook his head.

"Nothing goes without saying as far as I'm concerned," he explained.

"True. Whatever they do, it'll be a tougher nut to crack than it was before. Dad reckons that the raid was only successful because they got the Dementors on their side, and that overwhelmed the guards."

"Sounds about right," Harry agreed. "I doubt it'll be dragons though."

"You doubt our wisdom, Harry?" Fred exclaimed, affecting outrage.

"Fred, it's an island in the middle of the north sea. Dragons might be dangerous, but the middle of the ocean probably isn't the best environment for a creature that pretty much lives off its fire…"

"Huh," Fred sniffed. "You'll see. You'll all see!" With that he wandered off, munching some toast. George shook his head as he stood up.

"He's still a little drunk, Lee smuggled in some Firewhiskey last night. See you later boys and girls."

Hermione tutted under her breath. "Honestly, those two are going to get into such trouble one of these days."

"Don't tell them that, it only encourages them," Ron said with a sigh.

"I suppose. Anyway, Harry," she said, turning back to him. Harry rolled his eyes and took a last bite of his sandwich. "Why don't you think Fudge will sanction killing?"

"Too risky," Harry explained. "Barty Crouch senior – the Ministry official, not the Death Eater – tried it last time, and it was really popular, but they ended up with a load of Hitwizards and Aurors who were in the job solely for the violence. After the war ended, there was a massive purge of the Department to get rid of all the nutjobs. Finished his career, really, from what Remus' told me. Fudge would never risk it again."

"Do you think he should?" Ron asked. Harry glanced at him. They hadn't really touched on the subject since the day of Neville's funeral, but he could identify the undercurrents: was he still intending to kill Sirius?

"I don't know," he said, answering only the question Ron had voiced. "And I think it's a question for someone far more intelligent than me to answer, frankly."

"Honestly, Harry, you'll never make it as a politician," Hermione told him with a half-smile.

"Well, that's something to be proud of, I guess," Harry retorted. The others laughed, and Hermione shrugged, acknowledging his point. The conversation turned to other topics, most of which Harry tuned out in favour of eating as much as he could; he had an intense day ahead of him, and he would probably be missing lunch to finish off an essay for Charms. Soon enough, the group made their way out of the Hall, Ron still eating his toast. Ginny broke off to join her classmates, waving at them, and the trio set off to the east wing for Transfiguration.

As they reached the grand staircase, Harry's bag split open. His belongings scattered everywhere, and he swore.

"Damn it…" He bent down, checking his watch as he did so. "You guys go on ahead; no sense in all three of us losing points. I'll be right behind you."

Ron and Hermione headed off as he ran his wand along the seam of his bag, binding it back together. He frowned at it. It wasn't a new bag, but it had been in good condition. He had no idea why it had ripped. Then, from behind him, he heard footsteps; he shifted his hand towards his wand, suddenly feeling a little paranoid, and half turned.

Theodore Nott stood there, his wand in his hand and a dark expression on his face. Harry tensed up, wanting to be ready for anything. The last time they had met, Harry had humiliated the pale boy, and he was uncomfortably aware that even with his superior skill, Nott currently held an advantage. The Slytherin smiled coldly at him.

"Potter. I've been wanting to get you alone for a while now."

"Steady on, Nott," Harry responded. "Eloise will be devastated if she hears you talk like that."

Nott scowled. "Very funny, but I'm trying to have a conversation here."

"Makes a change…" Harry stood up, unobtrusively placing his hand on his wand. "I don't suppose you've finally decided to tell me what your problem with me is, have you?"

"It's a matter of honour, Potter," Nott said with a contemptuous sneer. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand. But that is why I'm here: it's gone on too long, and I want to settle it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You know, a great way to start would be telling me what I've done. Then maybe I could apologise?"

Nott's lip curled in distaste. "You can never apologise for what you owe me, Potter. This is about my father; what could you possibly say about that?"

"Wait…your father?" Harry asked. "He disappeared before I was born! How is that anything to do with me?"

"Don't you _dare _speak of him!" Nott hissed, and his arm twitched as if he was barely restraining the urge to curse Harry where he stood. Harry drew his own wand in response, and to his surprise, Nott grinned – an ugly, twisted expression. "That's right, Potter. That's what I want."

"Nott, I'll be honest with you: I've no fucking idea what you're talking about. Stop playing games and just tell me what you want."

"Midnight. A duel of honour."

Harry's guts twisted at the words. He vividly remembered the last honour duel he had taken part in, and what his opponent had done to himself afterwards. "No. I'm not trying to brag, but we both know I'd kick your arse all over the castle – or maybe you don't remember the other week? I'm not having your death on my conscience."

Nott scowled. "We're not all as fanatical as the Darrows', Potter. The duel would be the end of it, whatever the result."

"The end? You'd leave me alone?"

Nott nodded slowly, reluctantly. Harry pressed his lips together, thinking it over. "Alright. Done. And where will this be happening?"

"I'll meet you at midnight outside the Forest." Nott smiled grimly. "Nobody to disturb us there."

Harry rather thought Nott was trying to intimidate him with the proposal, but the Forbidden Forest held few worries for him. "Sounds good. Seconds?"

"Of course. That is how these things are done, Potter," Nott told him derisively.

"Great. Can I go now?"

Nott did not reply; he simply turned and walked away. Harry shook his head as he watched him go, then looked at his watch. He broke into a run: McGonagall was going to kill him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Harry, are you insane? McGonagall will kill you if she finds out!" Hermione hissed.

"Will you keep your voice down?" Harry muttered, sending an apologetic glance at Madam Pince. The Librarian frowned at him, but went back to her filing. "How's she going to find out? Are you going to tell her?"

"I – well, I should," she told him. She sighed. "But no, I won't tell her. Don't expect me to support you though. It's a stupid idea, even if it will get Nott off your back. It's not really worth it – he's not that annoying, surely?"

"Hermione, he's hated me for at least five years, apparently for something I don't know about that happened before I was even born. Annoying doesn't even begin to cover it: he's the insane thorn in my side," Harry told her matter-of-factly. "Let's face it, I'll beat him in two spells, three tops. You've seen him at the DA."

"Not recently, what if he's been secretly training?" Hermione responded.

"Two days ago, I had a duel with Dumbledore – a practice one, true, but nevertheless, I duelled with him."

"You did?" Ron gaped. "What happened?"

"He – well, he made me look useless, as it happens," Harry admitted, "but I landed a hex on him. On Albus Dumbledore. Nott will be a walkover, Hermione."

"Hmmph," was Hermione's only response. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Can't you ever admit when you're wrong?"

"Yes, I can," she told him tartly. "But on this occasion, I am not wrong! It doesn't matter what the result is, this is still a very bad idea. You could get into a hell of a lot of trouble for this, Harry. What if he's got something planned?"

"That's what the Invisibility Cloak's for, Hermione," Harry said with a grin. "I arrive wearing it, check everything out, and unless I'm satisfied, I don't come out from underneath it."

Hermione hesitated, clearly somewhat mollified by this display of good sense, and Ron butted in. "It'll go brilliantly, don't worry, mate."

"I'm not," Harry said with a confident smile. "I do need a second though, just for form."

"I'll do it," Ron and Ginny said simultaneously. They looked at each other in surprise, and Harry smiled.

"I appreciate the offer, Ginny, but I think I'll go with Ron, if that's all right."

She shrugged. "Sure, no problem." She turned to Ron and smiled sweetly at him. "Don't let him get hurt or I'll tell mum, alright?"

He shot his sister a look of betrayal, and she shrugged again. "Consider it incentive."

Hermione shook her head as she watched them both, and turned to Harry, her expression troubled. "Harry, it's not…I'm not volunteering because I think it's a stupid idea, not because I don't care if you get hurt. You do know that, right?"

"Of course I do," Harry said, a little surprised. "I'm not a complete moron."

Hermione arched her eyebrow, her voice arch. "That remains to be seen, I think…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

At eleven o'clock that night, Harry climbed out of bed and called to Ron under his breath. As the redhead forced himself awake, Harry retrieved the Invisibility Cloak from his trunk. They had both gone to bed fully dressed, so when Ron was ready Harry threw the Cloak over them both. They disappeared beneath it, although Ron had to crouch slightly. Treading carefully, anxious not to wake either Dean or Seamus, they left the dormitory and made their way down into the common room. It was mercifully empty, and they left through the Fat Lady.

Filch was nowhere to be seen as they descended through the castle, for which Harry was immensely grateful. This was going to be difficult enough without running into the caretaker. A few years ago, it would probably have been perfectly possible for them to sneak out of the castle undetected; now though, with the increased security protocols, they had decided that an alternate method would be best. When they reached the second floor, they left the staircase and headed into one of the classrooms that faced out over the Forest.

Harry whipped the Cloak off, and Ron shut the door behind them. Opening the window, Harry placed his wand against the stone frame. "_Linia_." A coil of rope bloomed from his wand, and he cast a Sticking charm against one end. Taking firm hold of the other end, Ron climbed out of the window, wrapping the Cloak back around himself. While he waited for his friend to reach the bottom, Harry cast a Disillusionment charm on himself. A minute or so later, the rope moved in their pre-arranged signal, and Harry made his own descent. He gasped as he moved – even though he was not that high up, the wind was still bitterly cold. He moved as fast as he could, and dropped to the ground a minute later. He looked around.

"Ron? Ron, where are you?" He nearly leapt out of his skin when someone grabbed him, but he calmed himself, turning to see Ron's head floating in mid-air. "You idiot, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, mate, didn't think," Ron said apologetically. "Come on, get under it and let's go."

Harry slipped under the Cloak again, and they made their way across the grounds as fast as possible. As they neared the Forest, Harry could make out Nott and his second standing in the shadow of one of the twisted trees, and he held Ron back slightly. After a few minutes, during which Harry did everything he could think of to make sure that everything was advertised, he leaned over to whisper to Ron.

"Come on; let's find somewhere to take the Cloak off. I don't want him knowing about it…"

Ron nodded in agreement, and they slipped behind a tree. Harry tucked the Cloak into his pocket, and they walked back out to face the two Slytherins. Nott was standing with Blaise Zabini, who looked as if he really did not want to be there. Nott flashed a satisfied smile as Harry appeared.

"Glad you could make it, Potter. Follow me." He turned away and set off into the Forest.

"Are you sure about this?" Ron asked Harry in hushed tones.

"Yeah. The Forest isn't bad on its own, don't worry," Harry reassured him. They paced after Nott, drawing level with Blaise, who glanced at them apologetically.

"Hey. Sorry about this, I think it's a bit daft if I'm honest…"

"So why are you here?" Ron asked him. Blaise shrugged.

"He's my mate. What else am I going to do?"

"Can't argue with that," Harry said. "Think it'll go smoothly?"

"It bloody well ought to," Blaise muttered. "I'll give him such a smack if he tries anything."

"It will be fine, Potter," Nott called back. Harry started; he hadn't realised they had been talking that loudly. "Unless you're scared, of course. There's still plenty of time to back out, you know."

"Screw that," Harry responded cheerfully. Ron looked at him and sighed. Blaise shared a companionable glance with him, clearly feeling much the same as the redhead.

Nott stopped when they reached a small clearing just inside the Forest. The otherworldly trees obscured them from view of the castle, without taking them too far into the Forest. He turned to face them, and addressed Blaise. "Mark out the circle."

The other boy rolled his eyes and set off in a wide lap, trailing his wand behind him. Spark flew from it every now and again, and Harry could feel the circle rippling into existence, its magic rippling over them all. Ron shivered, and looked nervously at Harry. Harry ignored him, standing calmly in position. Blaise returned, sheathing his wand.

"It's ready."

"Good," Nott said. "You and Weasley stand outside it."

"Yes, Theo, we know," Blaise muttered, but he stepped out of the circle, followed by Ron. Harry and Nott faced each other.

"Usual restrictions?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Nott replied. They both moved into en guarde at the same time, their wands aimed at each other's chests. Blaise began a countdown; as he reached zero, Nott fired off a glowing ball of light that zipped across the circle to hit Harry at the waist. Harry parried it, redirecting it to crash against the edge of the circle with a loud ringing noise. Thinking back to the last honour duel he had been in, Harry used a spell Darrow had used against him: he cracked his wand like a whip, and a stream of fire lashed out, scorching the grass where it touched the ground.

Nott skipped over it, conjuring a flurry of arrows that shot at Harry. He simply lashed the whip again, burning them in mid-air before they got close to him. Stepping forward, he harried Nott with the burning whip, never letting up but never truly trying to injure him with it. He was all too aware that he couldn't win this duel too aggressively, or questions would follow, even if Nott kept quiet. Nott eventually forced a weak shield into existence, and sparks flew as the fiery strand caught against it.

Harry dropped the whip, and cast a Banishing hex at the Slytherin; he didn't intend it as anything more than a test of Nott's shield, and he was gratified to find that the shield wavered under the force of his spell. He followed up with a flurry of minor jinxes and hexes, overloading the shield, and then aimed a Blasting hex at Nott's feet. The ground in front of him exploded, throwing Nott off his feet. The Slytherin rolled, coming to his knees and putting up another shield.

Harry frowned. Nott was barely trying – he had only cast four spells, and two of them had been shields. It was probably an effective way of drawing the duel out, but it wasn't what he had expected. Was he just trying to wear Harry out, planning to attack when he was exhausted? They would be out there all night if that was the case.

He lowered his wand, ready for any attack, and watched Nott carefully. The other boy stayed still behind his shield, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

"Are we here to duel or not?" Harry asked. "You could at least put up a fight!"

Nott said nothing, and Harry flicked a Stinging hex at the boy's shield. It ricocheted off into the night sky. He sighed in exasperation, and turned his head quickly to look at Ron and Blaise, and Nott struck. The spell burst against Harry's arm, and his flesh bubbled painfully. Biting back an oath, Harry cast a spell that lashed Nott's legs together, toppling him to the floor. Another spell ripped Nott's wand from his hand. Harry blinked as he caught it, a little surprised. He had never really rated Nott as an opponent, but he had been expecting a little more than that. He looked over at Ron, who shrugged.

"Is that it then?" Harry said.

"Yes, I think that will be quite enough!"

Harry turned round, his heart sinking, as the speaker appeared out of thin air, holding her own, rather battered Invisibility Cloak.

Umbridge did not look happy.


	17. Umbrage

**Chapter 16: Umbrage**

Harry and Ron followed Umbridge up to the castle in resigned silence, barely even looking at each other. Nott and Blaise were walking behind them; Harry had noted that Zabini looked absolutely furious, while Nott appeared supremely serene. Harry was beginning to suspect just how Umbridge had found her way down to the Forest. The moment she had appeared, Harry had made sure that his Invisibility Cloak was buried as far inside his robes as he could manage. Detention – or whatever Umbridge decided to unleash on them – he could handle; the idea of her having the Cloak at her disposal filled him with dread.

The main doors of the atrium swung ponderously open at a swish of her wand, and she led them all up the stairs to her office. She had not spoken since revealing herself.

Her office door creaked shut behind them, and she sat down behind her desk, while they all stood in a line. Nott had now acquired an air of smug satisfaction, as if everything had gone according to plan. Harry could not imagine why: he couldn't remember ever seeing Umbridge so angry.

"So. Let us review the evening, shall we? Four students out of bed, in defiance of curfew. Four students not only out of bed, but out of the castle, completely flouting the rules and precautions set in place for their protection in, as I might remind you all, a time of war! How did you get out of the castle?"

Blaise looked at Nott, but didn't speak up. Harry and Ron shared a glance, and Harry shrugged. "We climbed out of a window." It was basically true, after all.

"You climbed out of a window. Well, at least we can say that you were dedicated to these shenanigans," Umbridge remarked acidly. "Nott, Zabini? What about you?"

Blaise sighed. "Same as Potter and Weasley. Climbed out a window."

"I see. And all this effort in the name of an illegal duel. I am frankly disgusted!"

"It wasn't illegal," Nott pointed out, his first words since before the duel had started. "It was a duel of honour. They're perfectly legal, even between students."

Umbridge eyed him coldly. "Mr Nott, you came to me with this information. Surely you don't seriously intend to quibble over the details!"

"I don't want to be prosecuted," Nott told her. "Detention, points…fair enough, we, erm…we deserve them."

How could Umbridge not see his insincerity? Harry asked himself, seething. Nott had set them up from the start!

"But I'm not going to be faced with an unjust legal challenge," Nott continued, folding his arms as if that settled the matter. Umbridge did not reply for a long, long moment.

"Very well," she finally said, leaning back in her chair. "You do have a point, I suppose, distasteful as it is – although you can rest assured that I will be doing everything in my power to ensure that these duels are banned!"

Nott's lips quirked slightly, as if he could see that the future contained a bright, vivid image of Umbridge's failure in her quest. Umbridge's eyes narrowed, and she tapped her fingers against her desk. "However, all four of you will be in detention for the next month. And I'm taking fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Harry could hear Ron groaning, but he was actually rather relieved. Under the circumstances, Umbridge could have punished them far more severely. She was actually being pretty lenient, far more so than he would have expected her to be.

"Nott, Zabini, get back to your dorm. You will receive details of your detentions in the morning. Potter, Weasley, stay behind."

Harry's heart froze. Nott smirked at him as he left, while Blaise had a more apologetic expression. Umbridge gestured the two of them towards a chair each, and they sat down nervously. Umbridge leaned forward, inspecting Harry carefully, all but ignoring Ron.

"Mr Potter, do you have any idea how disappointed I am in you? For the last few months, you have shown a great deal of promise, in the classroom and out of it. As I have told you, I think you have the makings of an excellent teacher…but you will not be running the Duelling Association any more. In fact, the Duelling Association will not be running full stop. Sadly, none of the people working with you have the talent to take over from you, and you have proven yourself completely unfit for any sort of authority at the moment."

"Professor," Harry started to protest, but she silenced him with a glare.

"Be quiet! You were given a position of trust, and you have betrayed that trust. You have broken out of the school, in defiance of all the protocols put in place for your safety, and engaged in something barbaric. I put aside my misgivings about the whole notion of duelling, Potter, on the assumption that you would limit yourself to proper, decent magic. How can I believe that you will abide by those limits in the future? Simply, Potter, you cannot be trusted; you do not have the required discipline.

"Now get out."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Well, that could have gone better," Ron said as they trudged back towards the common room. They had not bothered with the Cloak; seeking to avoid punishment seemed a little redundant at this stage. Harry nodded his agreement.

"Oh yeah. Still, look on the bright side," Harry pointed out. "She could have tried to expel us."

"Dumbledore would never have gone along with that," Ron said confidently. "He'd never expel you, not at the moment, and he couldn't do it to the rest of us without all hell breaking loose."

"Okay, maybe not expelled," Harry conceded, "but it could have been much worse. Only fifty points and a few detentions. It's the DA I'm pissed about."

"You're pissed? Just wait till Hermione finds out…" Ron said gloomily.

Harry walked on in silence for a moment, considering this grim prospect. "Shit."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Ron had never been all that good at Divination, but he did know Hermione well. She was well and truly furious with them both.

"I told you it was a stupid idea! God, you're lucky she didn't ask Dumbledore to expel you – you do know he'd have had to agree with her, right?"

"It wouldn't have been a stupid idea if Nott wasn't a backstabbing git," Ron pointed out. He quailed under the glare Hermione aimed at him.

"That's as maybe, but you both knew he could have had something up his sleeve. Didn't it occur to you to look for someone else?"

"Nope," Harry said with a shrug. "He said it was an honour duel, I rather assumed that he'd be – well, honourable, you know? I know he's a git, but I didn't think he'd pull something like that!"

"Well, now it's not just you suffering the consequences, is it? It's everyone who wanted the Duelling Association to continue."

"Yes, thank you, Hermione, I had worked that out," Harry muttered. "And I'm sorry, I really am, but what can I do?"

"Nothing now, I suppose. But I hope you're braced for any backlash," Hermione warned him with a sigh. "You know what they're like here, real weathervanes. You could be the least popular person in the castle by the end of the week."

"Not while Snape's around," Harry joked. "And if anyone does say anything, I'm just going to throw Nott to them."

Surprisingly though, not much was said, at least around Harry. People were disappointed, of course, but the expected recriminations failed to materialise. As far as he knew, most of the school didn't even know why the Association had been cancelled. He hadn't expected Umbridge to be gossiping about it, exactly, but he had sort of assumed that she wouldn't be secretive about it. He wasn't going to complain about that though.

More confusing, at least initially, was that Nott didn't appear to have said anything to anyone – although the black eye he had shown up with the day after might have had something to do with that. Clearly Blaise had followed up on his promise to give Nott a smack if he tried anything. Eventually though, Harry had come to the conclusion that there was another explanation for Nott's apparent silence: Eloise Midgeon had always greatly enjoyed the Duelling Association, and he knew that she was not happy about not being able to go. If she knew that Nott was responsible for it being cancelled, then it was a fair bet that Nott would be severely deprived of the affection and romance that he seemed to enjoy. Harry was seriously tempted to drop it into conversation with her, but he liked to think that he was better than that.

Harry found himself missing the Association more and more over the next few weeks; he had tried appealing to Dumbledore to reinstate it, but the Headmaster had refused. He had not said it, but Harry could tell that the older wizard was disappointed with him, which hurt more than he expected. It was certainly the first time that he had really felt that he had done something wrong in attending the duel, although he was still not fully convinced.

On the other hand, he did now have more free time to attend to his studies, although he was finding that a mixed blessing. With only a month to go before the Easter holidays started, academic pressure was starting to mount, and the constant encouragement from his family, Remus, Peter and Hermione was beginning to do his head in. He didn't really feel there was that much more that he could do, beyond finishing the coursework. He had mastered all the spells he might be tested on to at least an 'Acceptable' level, most of them higher, and while his grasp on the theory was significantly shakier, it had been that way for as long as he could remember. He couldn't really see himself suddenly having an epiphany regarding it all in the next few weeks. The combination of guilt, hopelessness and exasperation was slowly putting him more and more on edge. The Duelling Association had eaten up his time, but he seemed to be far more stressed now.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The _Daily Prophet _rarely put good news on the front page, even in happier times. Harry was getting used to the constant barrage of misery, almost worse than the Muggle newspapers that his uncle never stopped complaining about, but the Death Eaters seemed to be good at bringing about the occasional truly horrifying attack. Even Ron found himself unable to face food that morning: the _Prophet_ was practically screaming about an attack in Northumberland. An unknown number of giants had completely devastated a village. The article was more focused on the need for the Obliviators to rewrite the memories of the – very few – survivors than the specifics of the attack, but Harry found himself glad about that. The only details it mentioned were the death toll and the fact that the giants had deliberately started at the local school, then worked their way out around the village.

"They set giants on kids…" Ron murmured, still in a daze. Just involving the giants had been hard for him to accept, having grown up hearing tales of the monstrous violence they would unleash, often without provocation. The concept just didn't make sense to him. "Why would they do that? How could they do that? Giants hate wizards, why would they work with him?"

"Dumbledore told me that was Riddle's main strength – he was so charismatic," Harry said. "Throw in a heavy dose of resentment and blood lust on the giants side, and you get this."

He had been slightly horrified to realise that he could see the double meaning in the attack, and he wondered who else had done – and if nobody had seen it, did that mean he was getting paranoid? Giants attacking a rural school and the surrounding village; it sounded more like Hogwarts than Harry liked to think about. He didn't think bringing that up over breakfast was a good idea though.

"Seriously though, how's anybody supposed to fight a fucking giant?" Ron continued. "They're pretty much impervious to magic, and they can crush you before they've even realised you're there! It's going to be a slaughter if he really gets them involved!"

"That's very interesting, Ron, thank you for the contribution," Hermione snapped. Ron glared at her, opening his mouth to retort, but she nodded her head meaningfully at a first year student who was listening to them, slowly turning white. Ron looked at him, and nodded in understanding, looking a little shamefaced. As the younger student left, Ron leant over to Harry, speaking quietly to him.

"Do you think he'll bring them here?"

Harry winced, but nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised. That attack reads almost like a warning, if you think about it – targeting a school, then going for the village. It's like Hogwarts and Hogsmeade."

Ron looked sick. "We're screwed if he does. I mean, do you know any spells that could take down a giant?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "Biggest thing I've ever fought head on was a troll, and that was hard enough."

"Thought so," Ron said gloomily. "We've got about fifteen members of staff, and you can't really count Filch. And let's be honest, not all of those fifteen are Dumbledore. Hell, most of them aren't even Flitwick. A serious attack would wipe us out, wouldn't it? And we can't even learn anything to help ourselves now – sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he apologised hurriedly, seeing the look on Harry's face.

Harry shrugged it off, but Ron's remark had hit him where it hurt. He wanted to be out helping people; the fact that he could no longer really help even the people he lived with for most of the year made him feel incredibly guilty. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, for Merlin's sake!

His bad mood continued for the rest of the day, and in the evening he finally just left Hermione's group revision session, ignoring her calls as he left. Walking swiftly, he made his way to the Chamber. Thankfully, Myrtle wasn't around to try and engage him in conversation, and he slipped down the passageway in peace.

He spent most of the next hour or so practicing some of the tricks Dumbledore had taught him. The lessons hadn't just consisted of duelling; Dumbledore had begun pushing him towards a deeper understanding of magic, which seemed to Harry to have some relationship with the gifts he already had as a sorcerer. Most interesting had been the Headmaster's advice on creating his own spells, although Harry was finding that a challenge. He had never had much of a head for theory.

Eventually, he sat down, the chair he had conjured pleasingly comfy and robust. It was a little experiment; it had lasted nearly a month so far, which he thought was some sort of record. With a complicated motion of his wand, a cloud of butterflies sparked from the tip, fluttering around him. He could feel the heat radiating from them; they were little bursts of flame, held into a specific shape. With a push of willpower, he set them off on different tasks – some began to circle him, almost defensively, while others shot towards the training dummy he had set up in the far corner. When they hit it, it all but vanished in a roar of flame. Harry grinned in satisfaction.

"_Nice," _Titus commented. _"That'll serve you well, I think._"

"Cheers," Harry thought back. "Difficult to anticipate, certainly."

"_You going to teach it to anyone?"_

Harry sighed. "I'll teach it to the others, sure, but it's not like I can teach it to many people, is it? Not now the club's been shut down…"

"_Oh God, you're not still moping about that, are you?"_

"I just wanted to make sure people could take care of themselves," Harry continued, ignoring him.

"_You are. How lovely."_

"Yeah, yeah. But I really screwed it up, and all for nothing."

"_So start it up again. Since when have you been a stickler for the rules?"_ Titus spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Titus, teaching my friends a few spells in an old classroom is one thing – I can't really do that for everyone, can I?"

"_Well, there's surely somewhere obvious to do it, if nothing else…"_

"Where?"

"_You're such an idiot sometimes. Look around you!"_

Harry did so, and smiled as the penny dropped.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Hermione, you're a genius."

Hermione looked up and frowned at him. "Thank you, Harry. What do you want?"

"Who says I want anything?" Harry replied, affecting a wounded expression.

"A compliment completely out of the blue. You're not the kind of person to say something like that sarcastically, especially to a good friend, but you don't just come out with them either – well, you're a boy."

"Oi!" Ron said from the other side of the table. Hermione ignored him.

"So, you want something. What can I do for you?"

Harry sat down and grinned at her. "Is there any way to program magical commands into an object?"

"How do you mean?"

"Like, to tell something to open – think of 'Open Sesame', that sort of thing," he elaborated.

She leant back, her face pursed in concentration. "You'd need to tweak it a bit, but the Protean Charm should work, I think. What do you want this object to say?"

"Open. It's a key for the new duelling hall."

It was Ron's turn to frown. "We're getting a new duelling hall?"

"Well, how else are we going to carry on the DA?" Harry asked him. Ron and Hermione stared at him, as if he was speaking in tongues.

"Umbridge will kill you, you do know that, right?" Hermione told him, carefully. He nodded.

"Yep. But I think it's worth it. You don't have to join in, I know it's a bit…naughty, shall we say…"

"Naughty doesn't even begin to cover it!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Come on, we've done worse," Ron pointed out, a difficult statement to argue with. Hermione didn't try.

"That's hardly the point. And where is this duelling hall, anyway?"

Harry hesitated. "The Chamber of Secrets."

His friends shared a glance, and Hermione began to drum her fingers on the table irritably. "Harry, how are you proposing to get in there? I assume there's some sort of trick to it, and we don't have anyone possessed by Voldemort to hand to let us know…"

"Yeah…I can get us in, but I'm hoping there'll be too many people for me to just let in."

"Hold on, hold on…" Ron cut in. "Ginny told us that she could get in because she could speak Parseltongue while she was possessed. How's that going to work for us?"

"Because I can speak Parseltongue," Harry said.

Once again, silence fell. Their expressions suggested that not only was he speaking tongues – ironically – but that it was in fact the second head he had clearly sprouted that was speaking.

"You can speak Parseltongue," Ron said flatly. Harry nodded.

"How?" Hermione asked.

"Well…you know the block on my magic? How it was essentially a piece of Voldemort's magic?" Harry started tentatively. They both nodded. "Well, over the last couple of years – after everything that's happened, the whole sorcery thing, all that jazz – " He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Well, that gives me a couple of extra talents; speaking Parseltongue, seeing into Voldemort's head, which you know about."

Ron nodded appreciatively. "That's pretty cool."

"And it's become sentient, and talks to me. He calls himself Titus," Harry finished in a rush.

This time, the silence was deafening.

"You…you've got a sentient piece of Voldemort's magic in your head, and it talks to you," Hermione said, her voice strained. "And it never occurred to you that this might be a bad thing?"

Harry glared at her. "Hermione, I'm not an idiot. Not all the time, anyway. Dumbledore knows, and he's cool with it."

"Really?" Incredulity dripped from her voice.

"Well, maybe not cool," Harry admitted, "But he knows, and he's not worried about it."

"How can he not be worried about this?" she hissed, in tones that were bordering on only being audible to dogs. "You've got a piece of Voldemort talking to you!"

"A piece of his magic, not him," Harry corrected her. "And after so long in my head, he's…well, changed, I guess. I mean, he's a bit of a dick, but he's not evil or anything like that. It's almost like having a slightly sociopathic Draco living in your head."

Hermione stared at him, and he mentally reviewed the statement.

"That sounded better in my head," he admitted.

"I'm sure," she said sourly.

"He's saved my life a couple of times, Hermione. Sirius would have killed me back in first year, and when he and Rosier showed up at the end of third year? Yeah, that was him."

Hermione did not seem to know what to say to this; she simply sat back, arms folded and a steady glare set on her face. Harry sighed.

"I know it's weird, but there's nothing to be done about it."

"I suppose not," she said grudgingly. "Do we get to meet him?"

"I don't let him take control!" Harry shuddered at the thought. "He's not exactly…sociable."

"Yeah? What does he think of us?"

"_She's a nosy, prissy little cow."_

"You don't want to know…" Harry muttered. "Like I said, he's a bit of a dick."

"_Yes, and I heard that as well. I wonder if I can give you a headache from in here…"_

Harry sighed again. He hadn't actually planned on telling his friends about Titus at this point – or, for that matter, ever – largely because he had anticipated this reaction. He couldn't exactly blame them, although Ron seemed to be taking it better than he had expected. Well, quieter, anyway.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ron said, breaking his silence. Harry gestured expansively, trying to indicate his expectations.

"Look what happened when I did!"

"Fair point," Ron conceded. "But how long have you known?"

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. "Couple of years, give or take…"

Ron scowled. "Nice to know you feel you can trust us!"

"Oh come on, guys," Harry said with a groan. "It's not a matter of trust, it's…well, how would you bring it up? 'Morning, mate! By the way, I've got a sentient curse in my head that's started talking to me. How'd your evening go?'"

Ron's lips twitched in the beginnings of an amused smile, and he shrugged. "I guess if Dumbledore's ok with it…I'm not going to argue with him. Just be careful, ok?"

"I always am," Harry responded flippantly. "Hermione?"

She sighed. "I suppose so. Although I still say it's awful."

"Hermione, I'm not going to disagree all that strongly with you, I have to say. He has his moments though."

"I'm sure…anyway. Yes, I can do the enchantments, but I'll need you there to program them, if it's going to be in Parseltongue. How many of them were you thinking of?"

"Thirty or so?" he said casually. She glared at him in response, and he held his hands up in surrender. "All right, I owe you one!"

"Oh, you owe me far more than one, Harry Potter…"

* * *

**A/N: **Another chapter, so soon? I'm surprised as well. Next one shouldn't be too long *fingers crossed* In the meantime, go check out the DLP C2 (link on my author page). There's some fantastic stories there. Remember to subscribe!


	18. The DA Reborn

**Chapter 17: The DA Reborn**

Ginny shuddered ever so slightly as she looked around the Chamber, and Harry put his hand on her shoulder anxiously.

"Are you ok? You don't have to come down here if you don't want."

"I'm fine, Harry." Seeing his dubious expression, she spoke again. "Seriously. A couple of bad memories aren't going to hold me back. You don't have to worry about me."

"Yes, I do," Harry told her. When she scowled, he raised his hands defensively. "Hey, if I didn't worry, I wouldn't be me, and you'd all be worried it wasn't me, or something."

Ginny grinned, and nodded. "True, I guess. Hey, maybe you'd have been possessed by a little piece of Voldemort's magic!"

"Yeah, yeah…" Harry replied, with a roll of his eyes. Ginny hadn't reacted as badly as Hermione had, but had instead chosen to make snide remarks at every opportunity. He wasn't sure which school of thought he preferred. He watched her as she wandered off across the Chamber towards the Basilisk, reaching out a hand to touch the decaying scales. Her face wrinkled.

"It pongs a bit," she said, looking over her shoulder.

"Couple of cleaning charms can deal with that," Ron told her, from behind Harry. He had followed Hermione for a while, as she darted all over the Chamber, gasping in astonishment at everything she saw, but his academic fervour had died down swiftly. She was still examining the statue of Slytherin, her wand shining brightly.

"We're going to need more than that, Ron," Ginny scolded him. "There's a few hundred years of dust and dead rats down here, and it's hardly well lit, is it? We're going to have to do a lot of work if we're going to make this usable for thirty or so students, Harry. That's before you even think about what to do with the Basilisk."

Harry nodded. "I know, but it shouldn't take too long, not if we work together. We don't need to do too much though, it's a training hall, not a palace. And I think we should leave the Basilisk there – it makes a nice target."

"You just want to show off, remind people how badass you are," Ron said with a wink. Ginny giggled.

"Hah hah," Harry said. "Okay, genius, how would you get rid of it?"

Ron turned and looked at it again, before shrugging helplessly. "Fire?"

"Lots of fire," Ginny agreed with a solemn nod.

"What do you think I've been doing to it?" Harry asked them, and they both grinned.

"Things you shouldn't have been, no doubt," came Hermione's sour tones as she finally rejoined them. She still hadn't completely forgiven him for keeping quiet about Titus, but at least she wasn't yelling at him anymore. "So what do you want to teach us all, anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "Figured I'd just pick it up where we left off, might do some more advanced stuff. Don't worry, I'm not going to be teaching Unforgiveables, or anything like that. I'm not a complete idiot."

"So you keep saying…" his friend replied sceptically.

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione," Ginny said. "It's getting really dull."

Hermione glared at her friend, but said nothing more. Shaking his head, Harry cast another ball of light up into the air, further illuminating the Chamber.

"So: good idea, or not?"

His friends looked between each other, and nodded, Hermione more reluctantly than Ron and Ginny.

"Definitely. There's no better place to train in the whole castle, that I know of," Ron said, looking at Hermione for confirmation. She nodded.

"He's right. I can definitely get the magic working on the stones – although you're going to have a job explaining that to the people using them, you do realise that, right? No-one's going to be terribly impressed with you being a Parselmouth."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Harry said wearily. "I'll deal with that if and when someone asks."

"Fine. You and I will need to arrange the stones; Ron, Ginny, you can go and talk to everyone, make sure they're ready and willing, ok? When do you want to start this? And who do you want there?"

Harry smiled to himself, watching as Hermione started to talk herself into being involved in the club once more. "Next week sometime? We'll let them know. As for members…nobody under fourth year; this is going to be a little more intense than the DA was. Anybody who acted as a group leader last time, definitely. I'll work out a few other names for you."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Over the next few days, Harry and Hermione spent most of their free time constructing the enchanted 'keys' to the Chamber. It wasn't a terribly hard task, but it was time consuming, and Harry could not help out with the spell casting and remain free to take care of the imprinting. He resolved to buy Hermione half of Flourish and Blott's stock the next time he was there, as a thank you gift.

Ron and Ginny had turned their attention to their task admirably, delegating some of it to Fred and George, who had signed up so quickly Harry was surprised they hadn't suffered whiplash. Draco had followed suit, and had managed to convince Blaise Zabini to join him, although he hadn't even bothered to ask anyone else. Harry thought that was a reasonable decision, all things considered. He certainly didn't want Nott to show up. Most of the other more dedicated members of the old DA had signed up like a shot as well – whether out of loyalty to Harry, a fervent interest in learning magic, or a desire to defy one of the less popular members of the faculty, Harry couldn't say.

As the week drew to a close, Harry and his friends began to pass around the message: to meet at Moaning Myrtle's in the afternoon, in staggered groups. Everyone in the DA had arranged to stay at the castle over the Easter break to really cram in some final details in preparation for the exams (or, in the case of the sixth years, one last chance at real freedom before N.E.W.T.s started), and the lack of proper supervision would enable them to meet much more discretely.

Come the hour, and Harry found himself waiting anxiously in the bathroom, Invisibility Cloak to hand should someone unexpected arrive – or, slightly more likely, Myrtle wanted a chat. Hermione, Ron, Ginny and the twins were already waiting down in the Chamber, and Hermione had left him with a pouch filled with the stones. Eloise Midgeon and Susan Bones were the first to arrive, breaking into nervous grins when they saw Harry sitting there. He smiled and waved at them.

"Afternoon, girls. Ready to embark on a life of subversion?"

"Absolutely!" Eloise exclaimed. "You're off to a good start – this is out of bounds, you know…"

"Well aware of that, don't worry. You're going downstairs, this is just the door." Harry smirked to himself as the two girls looked at each other in confusion. Reaching into the pouch, he tossed them each one of the stones. "Take this to the sink; there's a snake carved on one of the taps," he said, pointing at the relevant sink. "Tap the stone with your wand, and the sinks will open."

Eloise examined the stone, which looked no different to any other stone that could have been picked up on the ground, and shrugged. She approached the sink, and followed Harry's instructions. The stone hissed, an ugly sound even to Harry's ears. Eloise let out a little shriek, and nearly dropped the stone as she leapt back a pace. Her shock turned to amazement as the sink stand split open, swivelling and twisting to reveal the shaft down into the Chamber. Susan crept over, and looked down into the darkness.

"What the hell is that?" Susan whispered.

"I'll tell you down there," Harry told them. "It's a bit…messy, down below, and a fair distance. I'd suggest a Cushioning Charm. When you get down there, there's a passageway. Follow it to the end. There's normally another door, but I've already opened that – same process though, tap the stone near it. Hermione, Ron and Ginny are already down there. See you shortly."

"You seriously want us to dive into a passage leading to…well, isn't this the plumbing?" Eloise asked. "I don't think I'm dressed for wandering around sewage, Harry!"

Harry laughed. "It's not sewage, don't worry. You'll be fine. I go down there all the time."

Eloise looked back at the shaft, and sighed. Then she stepped off the lip into the air, her hair whipping behind her. Susan gaped, and looked back at Harry. Resignation swam across her face, and she followed her friend, aiming her wand below her.

Half an hour later, the last few people were heading down into the Chamber. Harry sighed, steeling himself for the meeting, and jumped down after them, hissing as he fell. The sinks closed shut above him, casting him into darkness. He landed with a soft thud, and lit his wand, walking through the passage towards the Chamber.

Surprisingly enough, no-one was standing near the Basilisk corpse. Indeed, most people were eyeing it with a palpable sense of dread. Draco was standing on his own, seething quietly to himself. He looked up as Harry entered.

"Seriously, Potter? This is your grand duelling hall?"

"What's wrong with it?" Harry asked him. Draco glared, and spread his arms expansively.

"I do know where we are, you know! A bloody great underground Chamber, with a statue of Salazar Slytherin and a dead Basilisk! We're in the Chamber of Secrets!"

"Yes," Harry agreed with him, ignoring for the moment the shocked looks from the gathered students. "Your point?"

"Potter, this is practically hallowed ground!" Draco exclaimed, spitting with rage. "And you didn't tell me you could still get in here? What the hell?"

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "You're here now, Draco, that's what matters."

"And how exactly are we here?" came a voice from the back. Cho Chang moved through the crowd, her expression nervous. "I mean, I thought only the Heir of Slytherin could get in here?"

Harry shrugged. "It's just a matter of knowing the right trick, which I do. The Heir would have been the only person to work it out, but he used it in front of me, and I failed to meet his expectations and die. So, I can still get in here, and I – well, Hermione did all the work, so _we've _been able to recreate the technique for all of you, in pocket sized form."

This was not met with shouts of celebration. He sighed. "I know the reputation, but it's just a room. A spooky room, I'll admit, but how many people's first memory of Hogwarts doesn't involve a ghost popping out of a wall?"

There were a few chuckles, and fewer raised hands, most people having met the more important ghosts shortly before their Sorting.

"Exactly," Harry continued. "I know the Basilisk isn't exactly attractive, but it's a hell of a target, and there's something quite satisfying about carving it up."

Draco winced. "Potter, that ought to be in a museum…"

"The Ministry knows it's here, if they want it they could have claimed it at any point in the last three years," Harry said without a shred of repentance. "It's just a dead snake, as far as I'm concerned."

Before Draco could express further displeasure with his attitude, Harry moved on. "So, welcome to the Defense Association mark II. Thank you all for coming." He looked around the room at them. "I really appreciate this. I know most of us are hellishly busy, but I think this is important. You've all been asked here because I think you're the best in the school, or have the potential to be. But you are also here because you can be trusted – yes, even you, Draco." There was a ripple of laughter, and Draco looked offended. Blaise, on the other hand, looked like he couldn't decide whether to be delighted or confused, something Harry resolved to address later.

"It would not be a good idea to tell anyone about this," Harry emphasised, fixing each and every one of them with his gaze for a second. "I doubt Dumbledore would care, but we're in a grey area of the rules at best. If anyone has a problem with that, then you should leave now."

He paused, waiting. No-one moved, and he smiled.

"Well, that's good then!" There were answering chuckles, but they died away as he let his expression harden, just a little. "This is going to be a little more hardcore than the previous club. I'm not going to be teaching you anything too vicious or illegal, but there's going to be some tougher stuff here. If you have a problem with that, or you feel you can't follow the rules about safe usage, then you should leave now."

He left a longer pause, in acknowledgement of a few queasy looks. One or two people started muttering amongst themselves, and Harry nodded, making a decision. "Perhaps a demonstration."

He walked over to the practice dummy, still propped up near the Basilisk, and drew his wand. Assuming the en guardé position, he drew his wand down in a violent pattern. A streak of light shot from his wand, almost too fast to see, and the dummy nearly collapsed, its arm hanging off where the spell had hit. He turned back to his audience.

"That was a Cutting Curse – it looked more powerful there, because I was just using it against a basic training dummy. You're not going to be cutting people apart with that, don't worry. But that is one of the spells I'll be teaching you. So, I say again: if that's not for you, I understand, and I accept that. But you should leave now."

The dubious expressions did not change, but nobody left. One of the Ravenclaws, John Carter, raised his hand, and Harry nodded at him.

"Why are you so intent on teaching us this stuff? Not that I mind, I'm just curious."

Harry smiled sadly. "I don't want to see any more of my friends die." He could see Hermione tense up, closing her eyes in memory of Neville, and there was a moment's long silence. Then Harry clapped his hands together, bringing them out of their reverie.

"So, I thought we'd start today with some basic fireballs…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry threw his quill down in disgust, leaning back in the chair and sighing. "I'm never going to get this."

"Patience, Harry. Spell creation is a complicated business, many wizards never even scratch the surface. It is hardly an essential skill for life, after all."

Harry eyed the Headmaster balefully. "Then why am I learning about it?"

"Because I say so," Dumbledore said with a smile. "And because I believe knowledge to be the most potent force in the known world – one should never pass up an opportunity to learn, Harry."

Harry looked back down at the parchment wearily. "Are you sure?"

"Well, perhaps enough for today then," Dumbledore agreed. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Harry sighed almost lustfully. "That would be great."

"Excellent. Milk and three sugars in mine, as you know," Dumbledore told him, his eyes sparkling. Harry scowled, but climbed out of his seat and trudged over to the cabinet. Dumbledore continued to chat merrily as he brewed the tea.

"How goes the Easter break? I trust you're getting a lot done?"

Harry grinned to himself, and nodded. "A fair amount, sir, yes. Keeping myself busy."

"Of course. And out of mischief?" There was something different about the Headmaster's tones, something gently teasing. Harry took a moment to make sure his face was perfectly blank before he turned around.

"What do you mean, sir? I'm always well behaved."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow questioningly, and Harry shrugged. "Ok, I'm mostly well behaved. Still no idea what you're talking about though."

"Of course," Dumbledore said softly, smiling knowingly. "So the murmurs about you and a large group of fellow students congregating around a second floor girls bathroom are completely false?"

Harry blinked, just once. "Why would we be doing that, sir?"

Green eyes met blue, and Harry felt that an understanding had been reached. Dumbledore nodded, sipping his tea. "I have no idea, of course. I'm sure it wouldn't be anything to concern me in any case. I know I can trust your judgement, Harry."

"Yes, sir. You can," Harry replied sincerely. Dumbledore's trust meant a lot to him.

"Excellent. I do like to see my students learning from their mistakes."

Harry looked away, embarrassed at the reminder of his blunder with Nott. At least nothing like that could happen with the new Defence Association. As far as he knew, even Eloise hadn't told him about it, and they were still going out, apparently still very close, despite their problems earlier in the year. Harry still didn't understand what she saw in him; perhaps he was sweetness and light itself when Harry wasn't around to annoy him.

"I try and improve, sir, you know that."

"I do indeed, it is perhaps the most admirable thing about you."

"You're going to make me blush," Harry said drily, although not inaccurately.

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Dumbledore asked with a quiet chuckle. He waved his hand dismissively at Harry. "Go on, I'm sure you have better and less embarrassing things to be doing with your time. We will pick up tomorrow."

"Alright," Harry said. He drained the last of his tea, and snatched a couple of lemon drops from the bowl on Dumbledore's desk.

As he strolled through the castle, making his way back to Gryffindor tower, he realised that he was humming to himself. It had been weeks since he had felt this satisfied with life. Although thoughts of the conflict away from Hogwarts were never far from his mind, he couldn't help but feel that life was rather good at the moment.

Inevitably, the feeling did not last much longer than the realisation. As he mounted the grand staircase, he heard footsteps above him, someone descending the same staircase. He looked up, ready for a chat and looking forward to it, being on good terms with most of the students still in the castle. His expression fell when he realised that it was Theodore Nott. A scowl crossed the other boy's face, and he paused for a moment, one foot hanging between two steps. Then he continued his downward spiral, sneering at Harry.

"Potter."

"Nott, I was just thinking about you," Harry said, truthfully.

"Oh really," he replied, affecting disinterest.

"Yep. Thinking how nice it is that I've not really seen you in weeks. I was just getting used to it." Harry felt a grin spread across his face as Nott glared at him.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Nott asked him. Harry considered this, then nodded confidently. Nott's lip curled. "You're not. You'll see. I promise you that. Blood for blood."

"Yeah, sure. We done here?" Harry enquired casually. Nott's hands flexed, as if he was about to go for his wand, but he did nothing, and stayed silent. After a moment, Harry resumed his climb. As he turned to another stairway, he saw Nott once more, out of the corner of his eye. The pale Slytherin was staring after him, pure loathing in his eyes. Then he turned and walked away.


	19. The First Move

**Chapter 18: The First Move**

_Harry sat and stared at the stone door once more, trying to block out the incessant whispering._

_It had been a while since he had dreamed of the corridor, and he had hoped that it was over. He should have known that he would not be so lucky. His gaze was fixed on the eye carved into the stone, and he was getting the distinct impression that it was malevolent. He hadn't dared try his magic against it again, not after the last time._

_All in all, he was beginning to wish that he had a book with him._

_Why was he dreaming of the corridor so often? The only possible explanation he could come up with was that he was seeing Voldemort's dreams, but that still left the question of why the Dark Lord was dreaming of the Department of Mysteries…_

_As he stared at the door, a thought wandered across his mind, unbidden._

"However, there is another copy of it, deep within the Department of Mysteries."

_There was a prophecy, about him and Voldemort. Voldemort knew some of it, Harry knew only the basic details. Voldemort doubtless wanted to know the rest of it. Whatever else was said about him, Voldemort was knowledgeable, and intelligent. It seemed incredibly unlikely that he did not know there would be a copy of the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. _

_Would he be insane enough to try and attack the Ministry, just to get his hands on the prophecy? Perhaps Harry was looking in on Voldemort's own frustration on the matter – maybe Voldemort was the voice he could hear, and it would certainly explain the lingering feel of malevolence. And there was the time the corridor had melted into a vision through Voldemort's eyes. How could he have been so stupid?_

_Voldemort was going after the prophecy._

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dumbledore peered over his glasses, piercing Harry with his gaze. "It might have been helpful to hear about these dreams before, Harry.

Harry ignored the mild tone of reproof in the Headmaster's voice. "Yes, I know, they just didn't seem that important. You know now though – can't you do something?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry, I may be somewhat famous, and rather more than moderately powerful, but that doesn't mean I can just walk into one of the most heavily protected parts of the Ministry and demand that I be allowed to fiddle with their security measures."

Harry nodded, acknowledging this point. "True. But you can sneak some of the Order in to keep an eye on things discretely. Then if Voldemort does try anything, you'll know before the Minister tells you."

"An eminently sensible suggestion, Harry," Dumbledore commented, leaning back in his seat. Harry stared at him, and then the penny dropped, leaving him feeling distinctly foolish.

"You've already got members of the Order there, haven't you?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said with a sly smile. "Not quite immediately after the incident in the graveyard, but certainly within a few days. I have done this sort of thing before, Harry."

"Sorry," Harry said, chagrined. Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively.

"Don't trouble yourself about it. You panicked, perfectly understandably. I wouldn't be so arrogant as to declare the prophecy perfectly safe, but Voldemort will have a hard time of it if he does try. The Unspeakables are rather formidable themselves, when they put their minds to it, and the Department of Mysteries does not always correspond to ordinary time and space once you get further in. It will require a great deal of planning and effort on Voldemort's part to locate the Hall of Prophecy. Assuming, of course, that your guess is accurate."

"I can't see any other explanation for it," Harry said defensively. "It makes perfect sense!"

"Oh, I don't dispute that," Dumbledore replied, "but it is circumstantial evidence at best, however logical it may seem."

"We're not planning on taking Voldemort to court though, are we?" Harry pointed out.

"You miss my point," Dumbledore said, an unfamiliar note of irritation entering his voice. "A strange dream and an intuitive leap do not necessarily mean Voldemort is planning an attack. Do not give into fear of him, Harry. That is the first step on a path that will inevitably lead to defeat, and in all probability, death."

Harry sat back, sobered by the Headmaster's words. Was he over-reacting? It felt right, in his gut, but he would be the first to admit that his gut reactions weren't always necessarily the best ones – the stricken body of Edmund Darrow flashed through his mind – but he was sure he was on the right track. Dumbledore sighed and, removing his glasses, rubbed his eyes wearily.

"My apologies, Harry. I have had a trying week, I must confess. I have been conducting a research project, that I believe may aid us in the fight against Voldemort, but it has taken its toll on my sleeping pattern, unfortunately. It does seem the most likely explanation for these dreams. Nevertheless, my point stands. Be wary of assumptions."

"I will, sir," Harry said quietly.

"And in return, I will notify Cornelius, although I will leave your name out of proceedings – I assume you don't wish the Minister to know that you may have access to Voldemort's own thoughts?" Dumbledore finished with a glimmer of his usual amusement back in his eyes.

Harry considered this for a moment. The thought of Fudge salivating over such a useful resource…he grimaced. "Maybe not. I don't really fancy sitting in a dark room all day while they mind probe me."

"Quite. I will have to inform him of Voldemort's motives though, you understand," Dumbledore said apologetically. "Given the sensitivity of the prophecy, I do not think we can risk obscuring it for the sake of your privacy."

Harry sagged in his seat. He supposed it had to happen sooner or later. "Fudge won't keep it quiet, will he? He's already tried to push me into a propaganda piece."

"I remember. And no, I very much doubt that the existence of the prophecy will remain a secret, Harry. Although," the Headmaster said with a shrug, "Fudge would not release concrete information. There would be rumours and whispers only – solid rumours, but rumours nonetheless."

Harry said nothing. They both knew that rumours would be quite enough. More than likely, it would be widely considered fact within days. Either way, privacy would be hard to come by for a while. Was it worth it? With a sigh, Harry resigned himself to the onslaught of speculation. Dumbledore was right: it had to be done, however annoying the consequences.

"Not a lot we can do about that, I guess," he told the Headmaster. "At least the Quibbler's stuff on it should be fun."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "One of the few certainties in life, is it not?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry cursed to himself as the training dummy collapsed yet again. It was supposed to withstand years of spell-fire, and it looked like it would barely last one at this rate – although to be fair, it was a personal training dummy. It was for people who trained half an hour every few days, not someone who would subject it to frequent, intense assaults. God only knew how it lasted so long when around thirty people had formed an orderly queue to do their very best to destroy it.

He cast the strongest Repairing Charm he could, and the dummy writhed back into shape, a strangely disturbing motion. Harry watched it carefully for a moment, making sure it would stand steady, and then looked over at the basilisk. Draco was poking and prodding at it intently, as he did before almost every D.A. session. Harry couldn't see what else he hoped to learn from the corpse after so many weeks – it wasn't like he brought anything to analyse it with. Tucking his wand away, Harry strolled over to the blond boy, distracting him from his study.

"You're far too keen on that thing, you know. I mean, it would be creepy if it was alive, but it's been dead for three years, Draco…you can talk to people about these problems, you know."

Draco extended his middle finger without looking at Harry. "Potter, there are times when I think you don't have a soul. This is a _basilisk_, for Merlin's sake! It's a magnificent creature, anyone can see that."

Harry frowned, and poked at a scale. It fell off at his touch, and he looked askance at Draco. The Slytherin shrugged. "Ok, so it's not quite at its best…but still. That's not the point, is it? This is a basilisk bred by Salazar Slytherin himself! It should be in a museum, not rotting in a dungeon being used to practice Cutting Curses."

"So tell your father. I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't argue, it's not like he cares about it," Harry suggested.

"You think so?" Draco mused.

"He hasn't done anything with it yet, has he?" Harry pointed out. "He couldn't if he wanted to, I'm the only one who can get in here."

"I suppose…" Draco trailed off, thinking it over. Harry was already thinking of other things though.

"What does 'blood for blood' mean?"

"What?" Draco looked over at him for the first time, frowning. "Who said that to you?"

"Nott, the other day. I didn't think much of it at the time, thought he was just being his usual pompous self, y'know? But looking back, it obviously meant something to him. I thought you might know something about it."

"Nott? You're sure that's what he said?"

Harry nodded, and Draco stepped away from the basilisk, his expression troubled. "That can't be right. Why would he say that to you? You haven't done anything to deserve it!"

"Haven't I?"

"Well of course you haven't, you – " Draco trailed off. "Right, yeah, sorry. Ignorance is bliss."

Harry scowled. "Just get on with it."

"Right. Well, it's an archaic term for – well, a blood feud."

"Oh God, again?" I thought I was done with those…" Harry said with a sigh. Draco shook his head emphatically.

"I'm not talking about something like Darrow, not just a duel. Hell, Nott tried that, didn't he? The only way he came close to hurting you was to tip Umbridge off. He's not going to challenge you to another duel, believe me."

"But he's announcing a blood feud with me…" Harry said slowly. "That seems contradictory, somehow."

"It is, I suppose," Draco admitted. "But a duel just says you want someone dead. A blood feud…that says they want you gone. Forgotten. Whole bloodlines have been destroyed because of these, Harry. Nobody has them anymore. Even my father would think it extreme. And like I said, you haven't done anything to deserve one. I know Nott hates you, but unless you're keeping something very quiet, he's got no reason to hate you that much…"

"What would make you declare a blood feud?" Harry asked, beginning to feel nervous for the first time in a while. Nott had never seemed like anything more than a minor irritation, albeit an irritation prone to drawing his wand at any available opportunity. He had known that Nott would cheerfully attack him whenever he could, and would likely try and badly injure him, but this…this was insane.

"Generally, killing a relative," Draco said. There was a moment's silence. "You haven't, have you?"

"Of course I haven't!" Harry exclaimed. "What makes you think I would have?"

"Well, you did kill Darrow," Draco pointed out. "Actually…I wonder if he was related to Nott somehow?"

"Nott hated me long before I met Darrow," Harry said. "And Darrow's the only person I've ever killed – and no, I'm not planning to kill anyone else, before you ask."

"Not even Sirius?" Draco asked sceptically. Harry paused for a moment, considering this.

"Still open to debate. I thought I was, but…well, I hadn't realised quite what killing someone meant, then."

"Ok. What about Voldemort?" Draco visibly repressed a slight shudder at the name, but Harry ignored it.

"I can't really see him being arrested, can you?" Harry grimaced as he tried to work out how many Aurors would be required to subdue the Dark Lord without killing him. He wasn't certain the Ministry employed enough people, if he was perfectly honest.

"I suppose not," Draco acknowledged, inclining his head. He looked like he was about to say more, but they were interrupted by the sound of the doors to the Chamber grinding open. Hermione walked in, followed by Eloise Midgeon and Susan Bones. Eloise looked upset about something, which seemed strangely appropriate given the conversation Harry had just been having. Hermione waved at Harry, and took the two girls over to another corner, where they started practicing Shield Charms against each other. Susan was coming along nicely, Harry decided as he watched. She seemed nearly as proficient as Hermione, a fact that was not lost on his friend; she was becoming visibly frustrated with herself, and her spell-work was suffering accordingly. Within minutes, she was thrown back as two spells hit her chest simultaneously. She ended sprawled on the floor, her expression fuzzy. Harry stood up, ignoring Draco's snigger for now, and walked over.

"You alright there?"

"No," she snapped, pushing herself to her feet and snatching her wand from the floor. "I know I can do better than that!"

"Calm down," Harry said, repressing a grin and placing his hand on her shoulder soothingly. "You'll never improve if you keep letting your temper get in the way. Emotions hinder magic just as much as they help, you know that."

She turned to him, her eyes blazing, but she restrained her temper, taking a few deep breaths. "Sorry," she said shortly.

"Don't worry about it," Harry told her. "Happens to the best of us. Even me, sometimes!"

"Perish the thought," she responded with a flash of dry wit. She of course knew perfectly well what he could do if he lost his temper.

More people trickled in, waving to Harry and the others, and setting up their own little groups to practise. Nobody even looked at the basilisk anymore, and Harry took a moment to marvel at what could become commonplace in the magical world. It had taken him far longer to get used to its presence. He made his way around the Chamber, chatting to people, and correcting and congratulating as necessary. He wouldn't go so far as to describe the students as a finely honed military unit (an expression his uncle was fond of using about Grunnings), but they were certainly improving at an incredible rate. Over in one corner, a trio of students were conjuring their Patronuses, laughing with each other as the white forms danced around their legs. All three were corporeal. There was no doubt about it, the D.A was going well.

How many of them would take it further, Harry wondered. How many of them might go on to work with the Order, or maybe even the Aurors, or the Hitwizards? And how many might regret the choice they had made? How many might not survive?

"_Harry, do me a favour and cast a Cheering Charm on yourself, would you? I know you can't help being so bloody morbid, but you could at least try and keep it under control. Merlin's balls, life isn't that bad."_

"Voldemort wants my head on a platter, Nott wants me wiped from history, and I've got my O.W.L.s in a month. What part of my life doesn't suck right now?" Harry thought at Titus, pushing all the irritation he could muster into the thought.

"_You'll breeze through all the important exams, and you know it. And Divination, of course._"

"Thanks for the optimism. Although I'm a little curious; which would you say are the important ones?"

"_Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Potions," _Titus responded promptly.

"There's no way in hell I'll breeze through Potions," Harry muttered to himself. "Or perhaps you don't remember my marks?"

"_They're from Snape, they don't count. And neither does Nott, incidentally. What's he going to do, cast Tickle charms at you until you die of hysterical laughter? He's pathetic: you know, I know it, and his girlfriend probably knows it."_

"Why do you say that?"

"_Why else would she be looking like that? Unsatisfied, take it from me._" Titus somehow managed to convey a leer in those few words. Harry grimaced.

"Oh come on, I refuse to believe you can tell that just by looking at her."

"_Why?_"

"Well, for a start, all your memories are a mixture of mine and Voldemort's, right?" Harry said. "I can't tell that she's 'unsatisfied', and Voldemort wouldn't know what…oh fuck you!" He shuddered at the implications.

"_Yeah. Voldemort having sex. Now there's an image for you to mope over…"_

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

As the session drew to a close, Eloise walked over to Harry, her expression tinged with guilt.

"Harry, I need to talk to you for a moment."

"Sure," Harry said with a smile. "What's up?"

"I've lost my key," she admitted, flushing. "I don't know where it could have gone! I always keep it in my bag, I only take it out to get in here…it just vanished."

"Maybe it fell out when you took a book out, or something?" Harry suggested. She did not look convinced, and he patted her on the back. "Don't worry so much. It's not the end of the world."

"But this was supposed to be a secret!" she protested. "I know how many rules we're breaking, you know. What if Dumbledore found out?"

Harry snorted. "I'm fairly certain Dumbledore already knows, from what he's said. He either approves or just doesn't care, I promise you that."

"Oh," Eloise said, disconcerted. "That's…good, I guess. Well, maybe not Dumbledore then, but anybody else!"

"So…what, on the off chance that someone picks up a random stone lying around the castle, they're going to work out that it's a key to the Chamber of Secrets, and they're going to deduce from that where the entrance is?" Harry shook his head. "Doesn't seem that likely, to be honest."

Eloise pursed her lips. "When you put it like that…"

"Trust me," Harry told her. "I know I didn't want too many people knowing about this, but that was more to do with being careful when you're coming and going. The stones themselves aren't massive clues, are they? You'd have to know the trick of using them to do anything with them, and if someone we don't want knows that, then we're already screwed."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

In spite of his words to Eloise, Harry had decided that they would all benefit from a little break from D.A. sessions. Quite apart from the slim possibility of someone finding the stone and knowing what it was for, they really did need time off for exams. As Hermione had put it, "What's the use in being alive if we don't have any prospects at the end of the war? These exams could define the rest of our lives!" It was a more extreme view than he might have suggested himself, but she did have a point.

Two weeks passed, and the exams were over. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that he felt confident about his results – annoyingly, Titus had been right about Potions; he had found it much easier to do without Snape breathing down his neck. He had even managed to string together a couple of vaguely coherent arguments for History of Magic, although he doubted he would score much higher than an Acceptable. The theory sections had probably let him down, but would be balanced by his outstanding performances in the practicals. All in all, it was a good fortnight's work.

In the days after the exams, with nearly a month to go before the end of term, Harry found himself feeling almost entirely free of stress for the first time in months. Nothing to study, nobody bickering with him in classes – even Voldemort had been quiet recently. He almost felt like a normal schoolboy.

Inevitably, it could not last.

On a sunny Wednesday afternoon, he was sitting by the Great Lake with Ron and Hermione, making their way through a bag of chocolates as they joked around. Hermione was stifling her amusement – and her newly crimson cheeks – at a staggeringly filthy story Ron was telling them. The cool breeze ruffled Harry's hair as he leant back on his arms, laughing as Ron neared the punchline.

"And there was this Pureblood lord, with a candle hanging out of his – "

"Ronald Weasley, stop it!" Hermione shrieked, putting her hands over her ears. "I can't believe I'm listening to this!"

"Oh, it's just a bit of a giggle, Hermione," Ron replied, winking at Harry. "Well, that and a valuable life lesson."

"I know I'll be more careful around the Great Hall," Harry said with a solemn nod. "Aren't you always saying every story has a lesson to be learnt?"

"I hate you both, you know that?"

Pain shot through Harry's skull, and he gasped, touching his hand to his head. His fingers came away tinged with blood. He looked up, meeting Hermione's panic stricken face.

"Voldemort's up to something – gah!" Another spike of pain shot through him, and he closed his eyes briefly. "Don't know what…"

"Go to Dumbledore, mate," Ron said. "He needs to know something's going down."

Harry nodded, instantly regretting it. His head was beginning to feel like someone had cast an Engorgement Charm on his brain, but had neglected to expand his skull with it. He stood up gingerly, leaning on Ron for support. Images were flashing through his mind, faster than he could begin to understand. There was something familiar about them though.

"We'll come with you," Hermione said, grabbing her books and their food. They made their way as fast as they could to the castle, Harry's head getting steadily more painful the nearer to the castle they got. By the time they had climbed up a couple of floors, his scar was weeping blood, and people were starting to stare.

"This is ridiculous," he heard Hermione mutter to Ron over his shoulder. "We should get him to the Hospital Wing, and get Madame Pomfrey to contact Dumbledore."

"I'm with you on that," Ron replied. "He looks like he's about to faint."

"Not in front of everybody, I can guarantee that," Harry said faintly. "I'd never live it down…"

"Good to see you're still concentrating on what's important," Hermione said with a sigh. "God, I hope Voldemort isn't attacking someone we know. Whatever he's doing, it must be awful."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Yeah. Last time my scar felt this bad, he was right in front of me…"

**Harry Potter.**

Harry cried out, and fell to his knees. The voice echoed around his head, pushing all thoughts away from it. It was as if someone had gripped him by the soul; he could not move, no matter how hard he tried.

**Harry Potter. I'm waiting for you, Harry. I'm coming to get you.**

"Harry? Harry, get up!"

Harry groaned as he regained control of his limbs. "Voldemort…he was calling me. Said I'd know – " He trailed off, trying to work out what Voldemort could have meant. The images that had appeared with the first pain in his scar danced past his eyes again, and suddenly, he knew.

"Oh God. He's here. He's here, at Hogwarts."


	20. A Special Occasion

**Chapter 19: A Special Occasion**

Harry pushed Ron and Hermione away from him, turning back the way they had come. His face was set, his wand in his hand. He did not remember drawing it.

"Go get Dumbledore, tell him what happened. Take your keys, I don't know if he can get down there on his own. I'll go and keep Voldemort busy."

"Harry, don't be crazy!" Hermione said, clutching his arm and fixing him with beseeching eyes. "Please, you could barely stand up a few seconds ago! How can you fight him like that?"

"Who else is going to?" Harry snapped at her. "I'm not just going to run away from him, Hermione."

"He might kill you," she said, quietly. Harry allowed a slow, cocky grin to stretch across his lips.

"I'd like to see him try. He doesn't know how much I've changed; I'll give him a run for his money, if nothing else."

"But – "

Ron silenced her by taking her arm. Fear was etched into his features, but his eyes betrayed a stony fierceness. He nodded at Harry, understanding passing between the two friends. "We'll just have to get Dumbledore really quickly, won't we?"

Harry reached out, and clasped his friend's shoulder. "See you later then."

"Yeah," Ron said with a forced smile. "Shouldn't take you too long, right?"

Harry did not reply, and did not look back as he began to run down the corridor, his magic surging through his body. He had no idea whether it was co-incidence or planning on Voldemort's part that the message (and how the hell had Voldemort managed that little trick anyway?) had arrived in his head when he was on the right floor, but he was fervently grateful that it had. Merlin only knew what might have happened if he had been further away. As far as he knew, the Chamber was a blank spot on the ward systems that overlaid the school, so Dumbledore might not have a clue that anything was happening as yet.

The door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom blew open as if a tornado had breezed through as Harry approached; there were two girls inside, and they yelped in shock as he walked in.

"You should get out of here," he told them shortly, heading straight to the sinks. He spat at the snake emblem in Parseltongue, and heard the two girls flee as the sinks creaked open. He threw himself in without a second thought, bouncing off a Cushioning Charm at the bottom. He resisted the urge to light up his wand, knowing that Voldemort could be anywhere. He didn't need to make himself even more of a target than he already was. After a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim, dank light of the underground passages, Harry set about Disillusioning himself, and Silencing his feet. When he was as prepared as he could feasibly manage, he began to move quickly and quietly.

His scar began to throb the closer he got to the Chamber itself. Voldemort was still there. Rounding the slight corner, he saw that the door was open. He could see Voldemort waiting patiently, examining the basilisk. Harry crept into the Chamber, raising his wand to aim at the middle of Voldemort's back. He had not reacted, not even a twitch. He couldn't know Harry was there, surely? Sweat began to rise on Harry's brow, dripping down his nose. His fingers were tight around the wooden shaft. The Foe Hammer curse sprang to the front of his mind…

"Welcome, Harry."

Voldemort did not turn around. The spell died on Harry's lips. How had he known? The Dark Lord stretched out, and stroked the decaying flesh of the basilisk.

"A magnificent creature, is it not?" he said, conversationally. "I was most displeased when Sirius informed me that you had killed it – although I must admit to a certain grudging respect as well. It is quite something to be able to kill a basilisk on your own, never mind without using magic."

"I've got a gift," Harry said dismissively. At this, Voldemort turned to look at him – and he was looking directly at him, despite all the spells he had layered over his body. He shifted slightly, un-nerved by the gaze, and Voldemort smiled a predatory smile. Harry could see the tips of a pair of fangs poking out.

"I can smell you, Potter…you reek of fear. Are you afraid to die, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, not entirely truthfully. "Are you?"

Voldemort chuckled. "Some have said so. Never twice though, Harry. Never twice."

"God forbid someone should criticise you, huh?" Harry said derisively. "It's no wonder you spent over a decade as a spirit if you kill everyone who disagrees with you."

"Oh, I don't kill them all, Harry," Voldemort replied calmly. "That would be wasteful, would it not? Not all my servants are wastrels and idiots. They all have their uses."

"And where are they today?"

"They will not be joining us, do not worry," Voldemort told Harry. "This is strictly for the two of us…"

"I'm ever so grateful," Harry said as witheringly as he could manage. Voldemort sketched an ironic bow, never taking his eyes off Harry.

"You should be, Harry. There aren't many who are honoured by my personal attention. This is a special occasion, believe me. I am pleased that you sought me out. I thought I would have to find you, and then I would have taken such vengeance on you as would be whispered on dark nights for centuries to come…"

Harry's only reply was a vicious slash of his wand: _"Flagrate!_"

A line of fire tore across Voldemort's body. The Dark Lord did not so much as blink, completely ignoring the spell that should have lit him up like a beacon fire. A lazy smile spread across his mouth. "Is that the best you can do, _boy_?"

Undaunted, Harry raised his wand once more, letting the various concealment charms he had cast on himself decay. A silver beam of light erupted from the tip of his wand, the smell of burning ozone arising as it shot across the Chamber. The moment the beam appeared, Voldemort's eyes widened, and he whipped his wand across his body. The beam splashed against an invisible barrier, sparks cascading from the point of impact, leaving impact craters where they landed. Harry grinned savagely, and whirled his wand like a blade, firing off spells as fast as he could.

Voldemort raised his wand, and stones were ripped from the walls, each one of the curses. Before Harry could move again, the Dark Lord began to hiss, softly and rhythmically. The shadows began to twist and writhe, shifting sinuously until a great mass of serpents lay coiled before Harry. He stared incredulously; he had no idea Parseltongue could be used for something like that. The sheer weirdness of the spell hypnotized him, almost fatally.

They did not move like normal snakes; they _leapt _at him, fangs bared and dripping, tearing at him and coiling around his arms and legs, strangling him, trying to slither down his throat. One bit down on his wand hand, and he spasmed in pain, his wand falling from his grasp. He was drowning in them, defenceless, unable to speak, even to concentrate enough to force them away. How many of the bites had poisoned him? How could Voldemort do this? He understood now why people feared Parselmouths'; this was not natural.

He tore at the snakes, flinging them away, but there were always more. Their venom was seeping around his body, a coldness that burned his very core. A fang punctured his glasses, tearing a line along one of his eyelids, and he screamed.

And then they vanished, completely, leaving him prone on the floor, panting and trickling blood from a hundred bites and scratches, his robes ruined. Voldemort stood over him, his red eyes glowing malevolently.

"I must confess, I find myself…disappointed, Harry. I thought Dumbledore would have taught you better. Perhaps I underestimated your potential. You showed more promise at our last meeting. I hope you haven't found yourself too distracted this year…" The Dark Lord placed a foot on Harry's shoulder, kicking him over. "Don't worry, Harry. I'm not going to kill you. Not yet. I have far too much planned for you…"

"Don't get…too ahead of yourself…" Harry said slowly, fighting through the pain. "I know something you don't know."

Voldemort's face creased with unaccustomed amusement. "Oh? I very much doubt that, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes, focussing on the pool of magic deep within him. He pictured himself sinking his hands in, scooping out as much as he could. And he _threw_ it at Voldemort. The Dark Lord, already off balance for the sake of taunting Harry, was thrown head over heels across the room. He landed in a heap, and Harry pushed himself to his feet. His wand leapt to his outstretched hand, and he raised it above his head. Voldemort looked up, his eyes burning with an anger so strong that it hit Harry like a physical entity.

And Harry brought his wand down, releasing the magic he had gathered at the tip. The Foe-Hammer curse hit Voldemort so hard that the stone floor cracked beneath him. Harry could hear the crunch of bones shattering on the other side of the room. The Dark Lord was still, and for a heart-stopping moment Harry actually dared to believe that he had won.

Then pain tore through him, unimaginable yet familiar. He had felt the bite of Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse before, and it had nearly killed him outright then. This time, the full weight of the Dark Lord's fury carried with the curse. Every fibre of his being screamed in astonishing agony…and then the curse was lifted. He groaned, his throat burning, and he coughed up blood.

It was a momentary reprieve only, however. Voldemort was not interested in letting Harry recover, or even in gloating. Harry had hurt him, and hurt him badly. It was an insult not to be borne. Another curse dragged Harry into the air, before slamming him into the ground a few feet away. Snarling, the Dark Lord conjured a flurry of razor sharp shards, setting them whirling around Harry's limp body. He tapped his arm with his wand, watching as the bones reshaped themselves under his skin.

Harry spat more blood from his mouth, staggered by the display. He had not been foolish enough to expect an easy battle, bar that one heady moment, but he had thought they would be slightly more evenly matched. He had grown in both power and skill over the last year – yet he had barely inconvenienced Voldemort. He could hear Titus screaming at him, telling him to get up, to fight back, but the pain was in every part of his being. He just wanted to curl into a ball and give up.

"_Fuck you, Potter! If you don't get up and fight, I'll do it myself! Is that what you want? You want me in control again? Get up and show him what you're made of!"_

Harry grit his teeth against the pain, trying to ignore the angry spirit. Maybe losing control would be a good idea.

"_Would Dumbledore give up? Would Remus? Peter? If you're going to die, die on your fucking feet!" _Titus snarled in desperation. "_Make your parents proud!_"

Harry's eyes opened. With a Herculean effort, he pushed as much magic as he could away from him. The blades vanished abruptly, and Voldemort's eyes widened in shock. He jabbed his wand at Harry, a shimmering band of energy bursting towards him. Harry slashed his wand in a sideways motion, parrying the curse. Wizard and sorcerer stood facing each other for a long moment, both breathing heavily from their exertion. Eventually, Voldemort dipped his head minutely, in a motion that might, just possibly, have indicated respect.

"Sirius was right about your spirit, at least. You have much potential, Harry. If we put aside this conflict, I could teach you much…"

"This isn't going to end until one or both of us is dead, Voldemort," Harry said flatly. "You should know that. Oh, of course. I forgot. You never heard the full prophecy, did you?"

Voldemort's eyes went dead, empty of all emotion. Harry could feel the Dark Lord's awful, insidious power pressing against him, thick with hatred and rage. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for a further onslaught. Sure enough, Voldemort sprang into the guard position, a curse on his lips…and Harry seized the corpse of the basilisk with a Levitation spell, and threw it at the Dark Lord. Thirty feet of rotting snake flew across the room, smashing through the statue of Slytherin, shattering pillars. Voldemort vanished beneath it, screaming in rage.

Harry sank to his knees, panting from the exertion. Surely, Voldemort would not be getting up from that? Even if it hadn't killed him, the sheer mass of the basilisk must be enough to keep the Dark Lord subdued.

His heart sank as black mist began to seep from around the basilisk, the cloud coalescing into human form. Voldemort blurred back into existence, and raised his wand above his head in a two handed stance. With a wordless scream, the floor of the Chamber erupted beneath Harry, and his world went dark.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

He awoke to a sharp pain in his head, and a dull pressure on his leg. His vision was blurred, and something was scraping at his back. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and a familiar ceiling swam into view. He was back in the second floor girls' bathroom. The scraping at his back continued, the ceiling moved, and he realised that he was being dragged by the ankle. Voldemort had hold of his leg in his non-wand hand, and was pulling Harry behind him as he prowled into the castle. Harry's wand was tucked into the belt of his robes, and Harry stretched his hand out, fumbling to try and reclaim it. Voldemort looked over his shoulder and sneered at him, dropping his leg. With a swish and flick, Harry rose into the air, enveloped in a magical grasp.

"Don't try my patience, Harry. If it weren't for the fact that you know the prophecy, you would be dead already, understand? I do so hope that you are in a talkative mood…!"

Harry spat at him, a glob of phlegm landing on the Dark Lord's pale cheek. His red eyes sparked with distaste, and Harry's body was instantly wracked with pain. Voldemort chuckled, and reached out a hand. Gently, almost lovingly, he caressed a finger over the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead; it felt like someone had let off a bomb inside his skull. Harry screamed.

Voldemort turned away, walking out of the bathroom into the main body of the castle. Harry was pulled along irresistibly, still floating in mid-air, the pain ebbing slightly as Voldemort drew slightly ahead of him. He paid no attention to Harry, ignoring his grunt as he bumped into the doorframe. The Dark Lord moved with a predator's grace, his body tense and the tip of his wand shimmering with restrained energy. The pain in Harry's body was slowly subsiding to an unrelenting ache, and his vision was beginning to return to normal.

It became perfectly clear just in time to see Voldemort enveloped in a bright white light. The magic holding Harry in the air vanished in a rush, but he only drifted to the floor, gently deposited rather than dropped. He stared as Voldemort was thrust over the stair rail, plummeting downwards. He clambered to his feet, staggering over to the rail and looking over. Voldemort was sprawled on the floor.

"Harry, stay back."

He looked over his shoulder. Dumbledore stood there, radiating serene confidence from almost every aspect of his being. Almost. His eyes shone, their customary twinkle replaced by a cold, burning fury. He walked past Harry, taking a moment to clasp his shoulder reassuringly, and made his way down the stairs. Harry hung back for a moment, then decided that this was something that he could not afford to miss. He followed Dumbledore at a slight distance, not bothering to hide. He was confident by this stage that nothing he could do would hide him completely from the Headmaster.

Whatever Dumbledore had done to Voldemort, it had hit him harder than anything Harry had thrown at him in the Chamber – even the basilisk. He was only just getting to his feet; at Dumbledore's approach, he clicked his fingers, and his wand appeared in his hand. A small smile graced Dumbledore's lips, and he nodded at his former pupil.

"Good evening, Tom. It's been too long. Welcome back."

Voldemort stood up, his wand arm tense and ready to strike. "Dumbledore…cursing me in the back? I didn't think you had it in you."

"Oh, I have my moments, Tom," Dumbledore said, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "And what can we do for you tonight? I assume, judging by Harry's rather less than presentable state, that you are not here solely for conversation?"

"Quite the opposite, Dumbledore. What could you possibly have to say that would be of interest to me?"

"A great deal, I think, if you had the courage to listen," Dumbledore replied softly. "But I think that time has passed."

Voldemort's expression became mocking. "Oh really? The great Albus Dumbledore, finally resorting to violence? Wonders will never cease."

"Perhaps you have forgotten your history, Tom," Dumbledore said. "I am no pacifist."

"No indeed – but I am greater than Grindlewald ever could have been.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Perhaps," he said. His tone spoke of amusement however, rather than agreement. Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits.

"The whole world will know the truth, Dumbledore, I promise you that. They will all see."

"Not today, Tom," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. His eyes hardened. "Not today. At the beginning of the year, I made a promise to the students here. I told them that they would not come to harm within these walls while I drew breath. And that is not a promise I am prepared to break. I give you one final chance to leave, Tom. Will you accept?"

Voldemort laughed, high and cold, and a burst of foul green light shot from his wand. Dumbledore twitched his own wand, and the Slytherin house point hourglass was ripped from its stand, exploding in a shower of green crystals as the curse hit it. He pointed his wand straight at Voldemort's chest, and spoke a word Harry couldn't make out. Voldemort was thrown backwards, straight through the main doors, and out of the castle.

Dumbledore set off after him.


	21. Rise and Fall

**Chapter 20: Rise and Fall.**

Voldemort tumbled head over heels, hitting the ground so hard that he left a furrow in the lawn. He pushed himself to his feet, radiating intense, foul power, as Dumbledore made his way nonchalantly down the castle steps. The Headmaster came to a halt, studying the Dark Lord with interest, his hands folded behind his back.

"It was the height of foolishness for you to come here, Tom," Dumbledore said, a touch of disappointment in his voice. "I had expected more of you. Surely you know that being Headmaster of Hogwarts is more than just a title?"

"I know more about magic than you could even begin to imagine, old man," Voldemort replied, stretching to his full height. "I have studied magics that would chill your blood."

"I do not doubt it," Dumbledore said with a nod. "You always did enjoy research. That is not an answer to my question though."

Voldemort smiled, an eerie expression on the snake like face. "Oh, I know you have power here. But it will not be enough."

"We will see."

Both Headmaster and Dark Lord cast at the same time, their spells colliding and combining in a ball of golden-blue light. It exploded with a rush of air that hit Harry even in the wreckage of the doorframe. He raised his hand, shielding his eyes. Dumbledore did not so much as blink, despite his robes billowing in the backdraft. He took a single step forward.

"The Aurors will be here shortly. We can avoid unnecessary violence, if you will but listen to reason."

"I will not leave, Dumbledore, and if the Aurors arrive then I will kill them as well," Voldemort snarled. He loosed another volley of spells, shimmering bolts of light flying at the Headmaster. Dumbledore gestured with his wand, and great lumps of earth were torn from the ground before him, hovering in wide arcs around his body. Each of Voldemort's spells was intercepted, scattering clods of smouldering earth upon impact.

"This is the Headmaster's secret power, then?" Voldemort said with a low laugh. "Hiding behind the gardening? Truly, I am impressed!" He gave another swipe of his wand, and the ground began to tremble. "Let us see how you manage without your shield!" The ground erupted into spikes, the turf transfiguring into something almost metallic. Dumbledore merely raised his hand; there was a flash of flame, and he disappeared before the spikes could touch him. He reappeared behind Voldemort, Fawkes flapping away from him with a melodic screech that seemed to pain Voldemort. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a line of burning energy coiled out, lashing around Voldemort's arm. The line dimmed, but the light spread throughout Voldemort's body, seeping inside him and shining out.

He sank to the ground, seemingly sapped of all strength. Dumbledore stepped forward, a sorrowful expression on his face. "It did not have to come to this, Tom."

"It has come to nothing!" Voldemort hissed. With an almighty effort, he wrenched himself upwards, yanking his arm away from Dumbledore. The line tore, the light vanished, and he aimed his wand at Dumbledore. The Killing Curse shot once more between them, but Dumbledore only waved his wand, calling the earth to his aid once more. Blades of grass whirled lightning fast into a vortex in front of him, absorbing the Killing Curse. This time though, Voldemort did not wait, pressing nearer the Headmaster, his wand flashing as he moved. Darts of magic clipped Dumbledore's arms, sending him staggering back. Voldemort whipped his arm back, and when he brought it forward, fire lashed out from his wand. The flame struck at Dumbledore, drawing a cry from him as burns appeared all along his body.

Voldemort snarled in triumph, but Fawkes let out another cry, swooping back overhead towards the castle. The flames were snuffed out as he passed, but Dumbledore was clearly hurt.

For a long moment, the two wizards hung back, gathering their breath like fencers between bouts. Harry was stricken; he had thought Dumbledore would have beaten Voldemort back by now. Surely the Headmaster was more than a match for the Dark Lord? Everyone knew that he was the only man Voldemort had ever been afraid of…

But it suddenly struck Harry that that had been nearly twenty years ago, and somehow, Voldemort seemed more powerful than he had been even a year ago. Given what Dumbledore had hinted at concerning Voldemort's rituals, it was beginning to seem as if that fact was no longer as accurate as it had once been. Hell, Voldemort had waltzed into the castle on his own, and if that wasn't an indication of a lack of fear, what else was? Despite Dumbledore's best efforts, and clearly superior skill, Voldemort was barely scratched.

Taking a deep breath, he drew his own wand.

And Voldemort cast another spell – not, this time, at Dumbledore, or even Harry, partly hidden as he was, but at Hogwarts. One of the four towers shuddered, and then the top just disappeared, leaving only flame and smoke behind. Harry stared in horror as wall stones started to tumble to the earth below, and screams began to ring out from the main body of the castle.

"Harry!"

He looked back at the battlefield. Dumbledore had not taken his eyes from Voldemort. "Harry, go and help them. I can handle this."

For a moment, Harry was not entirely certain Dumbledore was telling the truth. Then the old man passed his hand over a ring on his right hand, a crest set into it. He murmured something Harry could not hear, and the ground shook. The air around Dumbledore shimmered, and four shapes began to form beside him. Harry could feel the magic within them – the magic that they had been formed from. A badger, the height of Dumbledore's hip, made of rock and clawing at the earth. A raven, a whirling vortex of wind given shape and talons. A snake, water looping in a continuous coil. And a lion, made of fire up to Dumbledore's chin. The Headmaster stroked its mane, and it let out a great roar.

"Tom, you wanted to know what the Headmaster's power was. The guardian spirits of the four houses, ready to aid the rightful master of the castle against any and all invaders." Dumbledore spread his hands, gesturing at the spirits. "You have grown powerful Tom, I admit it. But this is older magic than any of us understand. You will not prevail."

Voldemort looked at the spirits appraisingly. It seemed to Harry that he was, for a moment, unnerved by their appearance. When he spoke however, his voice was steady. "I think one of them, at least, will not harm me."

He began to hiss, softly and rapidly, and the snake spirit rose up on its tail, striking at Dumbledore's hip. The badger leapt to the Headmaster's defence, slashing at the snake's belly, the rock claws passing through the water apparently harmlessly – but it bought Dumbledore a second to dance backward a few steps, his wand whirling. The lion and the raven flew across the ground towards Voldemort, enveloping him in a whirlwind of flame. For the first time since the duel had begun, Dumbledore looked at Harry.

"Harry, please!"

The Headmaster's eyes were sorrowful, pleading. Harry turned and ran.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The tower had collapsed into the Dee Quad, at the north side of the castle. The damage was staggering; smoke was still billowing from the wreckage of the tower, and the falling stones had smashed classrooms and walkways all around the quad. Six stones had embedded themselves into the grass. There were mercifully few bodies, but still more than Harry would like. He knelt over one girl, bleeding from a vicious cut to her forehead. Her eyes were lifeless, but he felt for a pulse. His efforts were in vain. He passed his hand over her eyes, closing the lids.

There was a commotion from the other side of the quad, and Harry stood up, drawing his wand in anticipation. A whole crowd of staff and older students burst out the castle, McGonagall at the head. She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Harry standing there, his wand half aimed at them.

"Potter? What happened? What are you doing?"

"It's Voldemort," Harry replied, lowering his wand. "He blew up the tower; I think he was trying to distract the Headmaster. They're duelling in the grounds."

"Good God," she breathed. "He's here?" She threw her head back, standing proud and straight-backed, taking a deep breath. "Never mind. We can deal with that later. We have our own mission. Is she…?"

Harry shook his head, and McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she conjured a white cloth out of thin air, and let it drape over the girl's body. The other staff and students spread out, huddling round the other bodies. Some were carried away, presumably to the Hospital Wing. Harry and McGonagall turned their attention to the flames. Acting in sync, they produced streams of ice from their wands, freezing the fire in place, before shattering the frozen flames. Within minutes, the fire was almost completely extinguished, and Harry finally understood how Wizarding structures could last for centuries with little in the way of maintenance.

They were disturbed by the arrival of Professor Umbridge, flanked by a squad of serious looking Aurors. McGonagall acknowledged her arrival with a glance and a cool expression, before turning back to the fires. Harry followed her lead, ignoring Umbridge as she hurried around questioning people. Merlin only knew why she had the Aurors following her.

As the last of the flames melted away, McGonagall turned to Harry. "Potter, I think we have duties elsewhere, would you not agree?"

"Follow me."

The sounds of the duel had reached them even on the other side of the castle. Harry had done his best to block them out, but now the distraction had gone, his panic was coming back full force. He had realised why Dumbledore hadn't dominated the battle more: the Headmaster was quite clearly fighting largely defensively, at least to the point Harry had left. He rather thought Voldemort's callous attack on Hogwarts would have damaged Dumbledore's calm demeanour.

As he and McGonagall passed through the Atrium, however, the rock-badger that Dumbledore had summoned came flying through the wreckage of the door. It hit the floor, and lay still, crumbling as they watched. Outside, the battle was still raging. The grass had turned black, trees had been cut down, and as Harry and McGonagall burst out of the castle, there was an explosion of pressure that threatened to crush them even at a distance.

And as the smoke cleared, they realised that Dumbledore was lying on the floor, bleeding from hundreds of little wounds. McGonagall let out a little gasp, and her wand appeared in her hand so fast it was as if it had Apparated there. She made to move towards towards her stricken mentor, but Harry held her back. She rounded on him, eyes blazing, but he met her gaze firmly.

"Don't move, Professor. Not until we know where he is…"

The caution clearly pained her, but she nodded after a moment. Raising her wand, she spoke an incantation, and Harry felt a little pulse of magic emanate from the tip of the wand, the spell washing over him like a wave of hot air. McGonagall tilted her head, as if listening to something in the distance, and her brow furrowed with confusion.

"He isn't anywhere nearby…there's no way to hide from the spell, either."

"That you know of," Harry muttered darkly. He drew his own wand, a shiver of nerves running through him. He doubted Voldemort would have run, not if Dumbledore was down. If he was hiding, that meant he was plotting something. Closing his eyes, he expanded his awareness, trying to find the traces of magic that would alert him to Voldemort's whereabouts.

It wasn't much help. The cloying, nauseating foulness seemed to have permeated most of the grounds. He closed his mind to it hurriedly, fighting the urge to vomit everywhere. It was clearly a trap, but a well made one: he could see no way around it, and he was not going to let Dumbledore just lie there. He looked at McGonagall meaningfully, and they set out towards him.

"Potter!"

Harry whirled round, biting back a spell as he realised that it was Umbridge calling him, not Voldemort. The squat witch scurried down the steps, glowering at them both. "Potter, what on earth do you think you are doing? This is no matter for you, understand! Leave it to the Aurors!"

Harry looked over her shoulders; the Auror squad she had appeared in the quad with were no-where to be seen. He shook his head, and turned away. She called over him furiously, but did not follow. It took every ounce of his resolve not to run to the Headmaster, but he knew that haste would not be wise. He walked cautiously, McGonagall following his lead. He knelt down next to Dumbledore, feeling for a pulse, but nearly cried aloud when Dumbledore's eyes fluttered open. He gave them both a weak smile.

"Ah, Harry, Minerva…I trust the damage was contained?"

"Yes, Albus," McGonagall said, leaning over and clasping his hand. Her eyes were wet, shining, and Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable. "There were…not everyone got out. We did what we could."

"Of that I have no doubt," Dumbledore said, his breath coming in clearly painful rasps. "You always do, both of you." The Headmaster shifted where he lay, and Harry realised that he was lying next to an ugly little bundle. He poked it, and realised that it was alive. The bundle moved, an eye opening on it, looking up at him. It was Fawkes, although he was barely recognisable to Harry. He had never seen him looking this bad even on a burning day.

"He saved my life, and not for the first time," Dumbledore said fondly, stroking the injured phoenix's head. "Thank you, my friend." Fawkes trilled forlornly, and Dumbledore sat up, wincing in pain. "My, my. That last spell hit me rather harder than I thought it would, I must confess. I like to think I gave as good as I got though."

"Where is he?" Harry asked urgently. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"Around. He has, I believe, retired to lick his wounds. I was unable to force a complete retreat, I regret to say. I am not beaten yet though, not by a long shot." Taking Harry's hand, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning into Harry for support. "Although I do find myself at a disadvantage, I confess. The precautions Voldemort has taken have had an unforeseen consequence, I am afraid."

"Professor, what are you talking about?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to explain, but cut himself off abruptly. "I fear we are out of time, Harry. I will explain later – one way or another."

The bright summer afternoon clouded over, so swiftly that it seemed a painted canvas had been ripped away, revealing the true picture behind. From the darkened clouds came a spark of light, leaping down to ground itself in the earth near the three of them. The lightning struck with an explosion that blew Harry off his feet; he landed several feet away, flat on his back and his ears ringing from the aftershock.

When he was able to look up, Voldemort was re-approaching. This time, the Dark Lord came through the air, supporting himself seemingly only by his own will, and a cloud of black mist enveloping him like a cloak. Soaring like a Banshee towards Dumbledore, Voldemort spat green fire from his wand, but it sizzled into nothingness against Dumbledore's shield. Voldemort wheeled around, streaking back towards Dumbledore, and Harry took the opportunity to launch a spear of light into the air. It missed Voldemort, but the mist that surrounded him melted away as the spear passed by. Something about the mist had helped Voldemort stay air-bound; when it disappeared, his flight came to a sudden halt, and he fell from the sky. By some miracle, he landed securely on his feet, as if he had dropped lightly from a wall rather than several feet through the air. His eyes flashed, and in quick succession he cast three curses, a momentary pause between each one.

His first curse stuck Harry in the chest before he could react, squeezing his lungs, and preventing him from drawing in any breath. In a heartbeat, he was on the floor, breathlessness and pain combining to produce a truly horrible sensation. Within another heartbeat though, the curse had been lifted – Harry looked up to find Dumbledore pointing his own wand at him, a curiously resigned expression on his face.

The second curse was a bolt of light that would presumably have done something awful to Professor McGonagall, who was now lying unconscious on the ground; as it was, Harry watched as Dumbledore whirled round and knocked his assistant aside before it could hit her.

The third curse, cast to take advantage of Dumbledore's actions, took the Headmaster's wand arm off at the elbow.

Harry cried out in shock, and rage, but a fourth spell raised a dome over the two opponents, blocking him out. His spells rebounded harmlessly from it, and he resorted to running towards it, beating it with his fists.

Inside, Dumbledore had fallen to his knees, clutching the bleeding stump of his limb, but he looked up at Voldemort with an attempt at his usual amiable expression. The strain was visible around his eyes, however.

"Congratulations Tom. Well played indeed."

"As I told you, old man, the whole world will see my strength, and they will kneel," Voldemort whispered, almost lustfully. He raised his wand, caressing it, and spoke in a whisper. "Albus Dumbledore, finally beaten. But never let it be said that I am not a merciful lord, Dumbledore. Beg me for your life, and I will grant it."

Dumbledore gave his old student a weary smile. "Do you know Tom, I think I'd rather see what adventures are to be had on the other side. I've never been the begging type, I'm afraid."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits, and he pressed his wand to Dumbledore's head. "Beg. Beg, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore began to chuckle softly, and shook his head.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Dumbledore sank to the floor, his eyes glazed, and all the bloody cuts on his body suddenly frozen. Harry caught his eyes as he fell backwards; they were empty, for the first time Harry could ever remember.

Voldemort threw back his head, laughing to the blackened sky.

And Harry threw every drop of magic he could gather at the dome, screaming in sudden mindless, wordless rage.

Voldemort's magic melted away like snow before the first sun of spring, and the Dark Lord sprang into a guard position. Harry's attack did not conform to duelling etiquette: the raw blast of magic tore at Voldemort's flesh and essence, biting into him. Harry's wand leapt to his hand as if summoned, and he spat out an incantation. Strands of shimmering white light burst from his wand, and wrapped themselves around Voldemort. He screamed, and his flesh began to smoke, a hideous smell rising from him.

It lasted for only a moment. Gathering his strength, Voldemort threw his arms apart, tearing the light apart and releasing a magical wave of his own. Harry was stopped in his tracks, seized and suspended in the air, before two opposing waves crashed together, hammer and anvil, and he the iron between them. He screamed as bones cracked all over his body, and his wand fell from his pain wracked and limp hand. His world started to go black as Voldemort approached, his eyes shining with a strange, triumphant rage.

"Dumbledore is dead, Potter. And now I think it your turn. You've been living on borrowed time, Harry…any last words?"

Harry's head tilted back, and his eyes were red. "Harry isn't here right now. _Crucio!_"

Voldemort's eyes widened in shock as Titus raised Harry's shattered hand, the fingers spread wide. The skin on his fingers blistered and cracked from the force of the Unforgivable, unfocused and ill-cast, but pain lashed through the Dark Lord's body in a manner he had never experienced before. He slashed his wand upwards, and Titus-Harry cried out as a line of fire soared along his chest.

Reeling from the shock of the Torture Curse, and confusion over Harry's transformation, Voldemort staggered back, letting Harry fall to the floor. Over his shoulder, he could see Umbridge hurrying forward with her squad of Aurors. Sneering, he fired the Dark Mark high into the sky.

He left behind only Harry, broken and bleeding, and Dumbledore's wasted body.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

**A/N: **My thanks to Hellinbrand for coming up with, and giving me permission to use, the idea for the House spirits.


	22. The King is Dead, Long Live the King

**Chapter 21: The King Is Dead. Long Live The King.**

Gasping for air, Harry pushed his own mind forward, his fury with Titus lending him formidable strength.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing? Unforgivables? That hurt me more than it hurt him you idiot!"

"_It got him out of here, didn't it?_" Titus muttered sullenly. "_I don't see what you're complaining about._"

"I am not like him," Harry spat mentally. "Don't ever – _ever_ – do that again, you understand me?"

"_You wanted to learn that sort of magic, once,_" Titus reminded him, ominously.

"That was then. This is now." Harry sat up, clutching his battered hand to his scorched chest. He winced as he touched the crisp skin, poking it gingerly. Pain stabbed through him and he stopped, simply holding his hand as loosely as he could. He had never been one for religion, particularly, but he now whispered a silent prayer of gratitude. God only knew how Voldemort's last curse hadn't torn him in two. He was lucky to be alive.

He looked around him, quashing his fury at the way Titus had so casually taken control of his body and magic to cast spells that made him feel unclean…even if a quiet part of himself could recognise the effectiveness of the spirit's tactics. After all, in all likelihood if Titus hadn't tortured Voldemort, Harry would now be dead.

"Thank you. I guess." Harry muttered grudgingly.

"_You're perfectly welcome, I'm sure. I'll make sure your rescue is committee approved and socially acceptable next time, don't worry," _Titus responded snippily. Harry sighed. In reality, he supposed the worst thing about it was that Titus had cast the spell in front of an audience. He couldn't picture Dumbledore being happy about it…

The last few minutes slammed home in his mind, and he leapt to his feet. Ignoring the rush of blood, he sprinted over to where Dumbledore lay, gazing sightlessly up at the sky. The stump of his severed arm had stopped bleeding already, and a detached part of Harry wondered if that was a side effect of the Killing Curse. The greater part of him was entirely numb.

Dumbledore could not be dead.

He was – he was Dumbledore. The universally recognised greatest wizard of the age. The wisest, gentlest, greatest man Harry had ever met. He refused to believe that Voldemort could have killed him. He cradled the Headmaster's head in his arms, ignoring the pain from his own wounds, and said Dumbledore's name.

There was no answer, and something inside Harry broke, because Dumbledore had never ignored him, not once. Frantically, he placed his fingers to Dumbledore's neck, searching for a pulse.

Nothing.

Of course there was nothing, he chided himself. Voldemort had used the Killing Curse. Harry had watched. Dumbledore could not have survived the Killing Curse, no-one ever did. Apart from himself, of course, but that was…still unexplained, really. A one in a million chance though, and certainly not one that had been replicated here.

Dumbledore was dead. Harry drew his hand over his mentor's eyes, closing them forever.

"Potter!"

He stood up, lifting Dumbledore in his arms, ignoring Umbridge until he turned around. She hadn't helped. She had hidden, cowering like a frightened child while he, her student, had gone to fight. He knew that his attitudes towards fighting were not traditional – maybe not normal, for some people – but she was the Defence professor. He could not help but see her fear as cowardice. She stood in front of him, bristling with anger, her wand drawn, and started to speak.

He cut her off. "Take Professor McGonagall to the Hospital Wing, please."

"Potter, you – "

"Now." He laid no emphasis on the word, but she rocked back on her feet nevertheless, looking for all the world as if he had slapped her. Her eyes darted down to the body in his arms, and for a moment, she closed them. Then she nodded.

"Very well. You are going to his office?"

"Yes." With that, Harry walked away, holding his burden tightly.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The gargoyle sprang aside without question for Harry as he arrived at Dumbledore's office. Gasps and disbelief had followed him through the castle, often followed by the echoes of sobs as realisation hit those who had seen him. Who had seen the body. The news would soon have spread throughout the castle, he knew, assuming that people hadn't been watching the duel through the windows. There weren't many classrooms in that wing, and certainly no dorms that he knew of, so he didn't think too many people would have seen. Something to be grateful for, perhaps. It would doubtless have been an unpleasant sight, even from a distance.

He laid Dumbledore gently down on his desk, pushing papers and ink pots away to make space for him. With a flick of his wand, he drew a deep purple cloth from the air, and draped it over the Headmaster. Overcome by a sudden, shattering weariness, he looked around for a seat, before taking one of the two guest chairs. He looked over the desk at the empty chair that Dumbledore had always sat in. It did not seem right that it should ever be filled again. He buried his head in his hands, trying to think of something – anything – else. It proved impossible. Quite apart from the sheer magnitude of the fact that Albus Dumbledore was dead, what would happen now? Harry had absolutely no idea whether he had had any family, anyone to arrange the funeral, and everything that went with it. He was sure that in the absence of anyone else, Fudge and others at the Ministry would push for some sort of state funeral, but Harry did not think Dumbledore would have wanted that. Perhaps something at Hogwarts itself?

"It doesn't seem right," came a voice from behind him. Looking round, startled, Harry realised that it was one of the portraits, a forlorn, elderly wizard in scarlet robes. "We felt it even here," the wizard continued. "The duel, I mean. I know it's exactly how he would have wanted to go, but…it's not right."

The portrait was right, Harry thought with a slight smile. Dumbledore's death might have been painful, but he had fallen in defence of the innocent children he had devoted his life to. Somehow, he felt that Dumbledore would have been satisfied by that, and he drew a small measure of comfort from it.

The door opened, and Umbridge walked in. Harry stood up, a gesture of respect that he in no way felt. He said nothing to her though. She seemed not to notice, and walked across the room, her features sculpted into a blank expression. She laid a hand on Dumbledore's shoulders, and bowed her head, closing her eyes. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to cry, and couldn't quite believe that Umbridge would do something like that. After a moment however, she looked up, meeting his gaze.

"This is a tragic day for Hogwarts, Harry."

"For the Wizarding world, Professor," Harry replied, careful not to sound too reproachful. She acknowledged his correction with a tilt of her head.

"Indeed. Do you have any idea how it happened?"

"You were there, Professor," Harry shrugged. "Didn't you see yourself?"

Umbridge scowled for a fleeting second. "I know how he died; how did You-Know-Who get into the castle?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I wish I did. Through the Chamber of Secrets somehow, I know that."

"I see." Umbridge stared at Harry for a long, uncomfortable moment, her lips pursed. Harry stared back at her, barely blinking, trying to work out what she was thinking.

"Mr Potter, it has recently come to my attention that you and several other students have been engaging in certain illicit activities somewhere in the castle."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry told her. She smiled thinly.

"Let us not play games, Harry. Nearly thirty students from different Houses and year groups congregating in a rather out of the way and unpopular girls bathroom? Did you really think no-one would notice?"

"Is this really the time and place for this discussion, Professor?" Harry asked, dodging the question as best he could. Even he recognised the weak attempt at redirection though, and Umbridge's eyes gleamed. "Shouldn't we be more concerned about the fact that Voldemort just killed Albus Dumbledore?" he forged on.

"I am concerned about it, Potter." Her expression hardened. "Do you not think it relevant that You-Know-Who – and I will thank you not to say his name in my presence again! – was able to penetrate the castle's defences mere weeks after you started a seditious group in the same location? How were you even able to get in there?"

"I've been in there before, as you know," Harry shrugged, subtly reminding her that she had failed to find the Chamber a few years previously, and had been beaten at her own game by Harry himself. Judging by her scowl, she remembered just as well as he did. "I learnt the trick then, and I just repeated it." Mentally, he crossed his fingers; with any luck, the vague explanation would put her off the way it had the D.A. members.

"And what is the nature of this 'trick'?"

Or possibly not. He took a deep breath. "I can speak Parseltongue. I'm not entirely sure why."

"That makes sense, I suppose," Umbridge said thoughtfully. "It wouldn't be incredibly difficult to work out some method of enchanting an object to have the relevant words contained within it, and trigger it as and when necessary, I suppose."

Harry nodded warily. Umbridge looked at him, and smiled grimly. "Do you really think that little of me, Harry? Parseltongue is a language; it isn't inherently Dark. I'm not that much of a fool. You've used it recklessly, to be sure, but that doesn't make it evil."

"I've never thought so," Harry shot back.

"I can imagine," Umbridge sniffed. She folded her arms, and all of a sudden, Harry could understand how she had risen so high in the Ministry. Nobody wearing that much pink should have been so intimidating. She fairly glowed with righteous anger, self-belief, and confidence. "And is there any chance that someone could have handed over their 'key'?"

"No!" Harry shook his head emphatically. "Absolutely not. I'd trust every one of them with my life."

As he spoke, a nasty memory swam through his mind; he tried to hide his reaction, but Umbridge pounced. "Mr Potter?"

"I – one of them lost their stone – the stone we'd enchanted, like you said. We never found it."

Umbridge closed her eyes, as if she was barely restraining her urge to curse Harry. "One of them was lost. I see. And it never occurred to you to worry about this?"

"What was anybody going to do with it?" Harry asked defensively. "It's not like they were instantly recognisable; they were just lumps of stone. You had to know what they were in order to use them."

"Which would imply that someone who knew how to use it handed it over," Umbridge said acidly. Harry cringed, but shook his head.

"No. Eloise wouldn't do that."

"Eloise Midgeon?" Umbridge frowned. "I'll grant you that, she doesn't seem the type. Although we can't rule out the Imperius Curse or similar, of course. That's a matter for the Aurors though. We have other things to discuss."

"Like what?"

"Your use of the Cruciatus Curse," Umbridge said flatly. "Don't try and deny it, I saw you do it."

Harry hesitated. He hadn't used it, of course. It had been Titus, technically. But he could hardly explain that – or rather, he could explain it, and doubtless look forward to a future filled with probing and experimental procedures. He settled for apologetic admission: "I know, and I'm sorry. I know it wasn't the best decision I've ever made. I was just so…" he trailed off meaningfully.

"Angry? Hateful? Driven by a desire for revenge?" Umbridge supplied, her eyes thin slits of disapproval.

"I suppose so, yes," Harry said.

Umbridge sighed. "I thought as much. You can come in now, gentlemen!"

The door swung open, and two wizards entered the room, both dressed in the distinctive midnight blue robes of the Aurors. They both held their wands loosely in their hands, ready for action.

"I am sorry, Harry, but I have no choice. You performed an Unforgivable Curse in full sight. I daresay if anyone deserves that, it's You-Know-Who, but it is simply unacceptable. You know the punishment for use of the Unforgivable Curses, I assume?"

Harry stared at her as the penny dropped. "You're sending me to Azkaban?"

"As I said, you leave me with little choice," Umbridge said harshly. "You should have thought of the consequences before you decided to use such abhorrent magic, shouldn't you? Rogers, Morrison."

A large hand clamped roughly around Harry's shoulder, and he looked up to find the broader of the two Aurors towering over him. His brown eyes met Harry's with a look of regret. "Sorry about this, sir, but those are the rules. Nobody is above the law."

Harry shook off his hand, standing proud. "Maybe so. But I will walk out of here myself, thank you."

The Auror nodded, and directed Harry towards the door.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"You did _what?_"

Whatever his opponents might say about him, Cornelius Fudge was a consummate politician. He had spent the best part of twenty years at the highest position in British Wizarding politics, and he intended to spend many more decades there. The first step in this process was never, _never_, to be seen to lose your temper.

It was therefore a measure of his sheer fury that not only was he visibly losing his temper, but losing it with one of his more trusted advisors. Umbridge remained calm, at least outwardly, in the face of Fudge's unexpected response.

"What was I supposed to do, Cornelius? The boy used the Cruciatus Curse in front of me, I couldn't just ignore that!"

Fudge slammed his fist down onto his desk. "Merlin's blood, Dolores, he's the Boy-Who-Lived, and he used the Cruciatus curse on You-Know-Who himself! Do you not think that in this one instance, it might have been appropriate to demonstrate a little lenience?"

Umbridge met his gaze, her eyes cold. "No. There is no excuse for use of the Unforgivables. Not ever. We learnt that the last time, did we not?"

"Dolores, I respect your…fervent attitude on Dark magic, but you go too far sometimes!" Fudge paced from behind his desk, drawing close to her and stabbing his finger at her. "You left the Ministry, Dolores. I understand why, and I actually give you a lot of credit for your decision. Your aims were admirable, but you sacrificed a good chunk of your political power. You overstepped your bounds, ordering the Aurors around."

"I'm sorry, Minister, but can you tell me precisely what I did wrong? I told the Aurors what had happened; they were duty bound to detain Potter. You know that as well as anybody."

Fudge growled, but turned away, walking to the window and looking out at the streets of London above them. "I realise that. But it was badly done. Dumbledore is _dead_, Dolores. There are precious few others fit to take his place, and you've seen to it that our greatest symbol of hope will be wasting away in Azkaban for weeks until I can sort this out. I can't just dismiss the charges, not without an investigation. Not now."

"Minister, I – "

Fudge cut her off with a wave of his hand, turning to face her. "Be quiet. Potter was…overzealous, I can agree with you on that. But put it in perspective, for once in your life. He used a Dark curse against a walking abomination, in self-defence, after watching him brutally kill the greatest wizard of the age. I've met Potter. Do you honestly think that he wouldn't do it again? And that there is any right thinking person out there who wouldn't shake him by the hand for doing so?"

"I stand by my actions, Cornelius," Umbridge spoke stiffly. "Please don't criticise me for putting my principles before politics."

"Don't you dare play that game with me, Dolores!" Fudge snapped. "Because of you, a young boy will be spending the next few weeks in Azkaban. You do remember the Dementors, don't you? They feed off power and misery, and God knows Potter's got plenty of both. We'll be lucky if he's sane by the time he gets out, and that will be on your head."

"As you say, Minister," Umbridge replied, her voice never wavering, her conviction ringing out loud and clear. Fudge watched her for a long moment, then sighed.

"What is the situation at Hogwarts apart from that?"

"Chaos, to be quite frank, Cornelius." With the conversation moving to less delicate matters, Umbridge finally took a seat, relaxing in the comfortable armchair. Fudge perched himself on his desk, a significant but not impolite distance from his former Under-Secretary. "McGonagall is – understandably, of course – devastated by recent events, and is preoccupied with organising the medical care of those injured by the collapse of the Westward Tower. Few fatalities, for which we can all be thankful. None of the other staff are either qualified or trustworthy enough to take control for the moment, in my opinion. Most of the students are still in shock."

"Of course." Fudge rubbed his eyes wearily. "I need to send an owl to – Aberforth, is it? Dumbledore's brother."

"That's the one. A rather unsavoury individual, as I recall," Umbridge sniffed disdainfully. Fudge flashed her an irritated glance.

"Be that as it may, he is Dumbledore's only living relative. Under the circumstances, a letter does not seem inappropriate. And I might suggest a state funeral at Hogwarts. He spent so much of his life there, after all."

"I think that would be an excellent idea, Cornelius."

"Hm." He reached down to his desk, flicking through some of the papers there. "Have you seen this? The medical examination conducted on Potter after he was taken into custody. Twenty fractured bones, his wand hand all but shattered, innumerable cuts and bruises, his chest half slashed open and cauterized…the Healers couldn't quite believe he was walking around, never mind that he carried Dumbledore back to his office. He must have been running on sheer willpower and magic."

"The boy is impressively powerful, there's no doubt about that," Umbridge agreed. For the first time since she arrived, her expression had changed. Her implacable, cold confidence had been replaced with concern. "He seemed to have barely been scratched when I spoke to him afterwards."

"Let's hope he stays that way," the Minister remarked sourly. Umbridge flinched, imperceptibly, and Fudge waved a hand. "Go on, get back to Hogwarts. I'll Floo to discuss the funeral with McGonagall, at her convenience of course."

"Of course."

As Umbridge left, Fudge took another report from his desk. This one was a few weeks old – the last communication Dumbledore had sent him, warning of the possibility of a raid on the Hall of Prophecy. If what that implied were true…he picked up his quill, dabbing it in the ink pot, and began to write as fast as he could.

It was imperative that Harry Potter remain in Azkaban not one second longer than humanly possible.


	23. Consequences

**Chapter 22: Consequences**

Over the two or three centuries it had been in use, Azkaban had played host to many of the more infamous wizards and witches to have graced Britain's shores. The Death Eaters were the ones that came most easily to mind, of course, but they were far from the only dark wizards to have graced the fortress. Some of the Aurors on guard duty still claimed to be able to see the ghost of Quintus Malarus, who had run for the post of Minister while drinking Felix Felicis by the gallon, before shamelessly abusing his political powers, and who had died one hundred years ago, somehow Kissed in his sleep. Others swore blind that Severian Wolfe had cursed the walls of his cell to weep blood as an eternal reminder of his crimes. As a result, Azkaban tended to attract only those of sturdy natures, those who could be relied upon to act with equanimity in the face of any prisoner, no matter how vile.

However, not one of the guards knew how to react around their latest charge.

He was, after all, not quite sixteen years of age. He was nationally recognised as a hero, the saviour of their way of life, perhaps. He had also just been arrested for performing one of the most notorious and vile curses ever devised. But then, he had cast it on a man – or at least, something that resembled a man – who would cheerfully kill each and every one of them and desecrate their corpses. Harry Potter's arrival had caused much fevered debate amongst the guards, and it had eventually been decided that he would be kept in the lower cells, as far away as possible from the Dementors and the worst prisoners.

Perhaps naively, the guards believed this would help.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When Harry awoke, he was curled up, foetus like, under the rough bunk that was the cells only furnishing. The cell was supposed to be one of the more luxurious ones, although luxury in Azkaban was an incredibly relative term. His bunk had a pillow, and a blanket without holes in, and a full wooden door rather than bars, meaning that it was actually possible to stay somewhat warm.

This morning – or evening, his internal clock having been brutally affected by his interment – the allegedly mild cell was all but frozen over.

Blinking blearily, he began to unfold his body. It was far more painful than the process should have been. He winced, stiffening up, easing his tense limbs straight. His spine cracked, and his recently healed bones ached. Looking around the room, he tried to remember how he had ended up in this state.

"_No, please, not Harry!"_

"_Stand aside you foolish girl, and I might even spare your life."_

"_Go to hell!"_

"_Crucio!"_

The memory scorched through his mind, and he sprang back into the protection of the bunk, meagre as it was. Thoughts cascaded through his consciousness, thoughts of Neville's body sailing out to sea, of Sirius grinning wolfishly as he levelled his wand in Harry's direction, of Voldemort, awful and darkly awe inspiring in equal measure. Thoughts of magic lashing across gravestones to tear at his body, of Edmund Darrow's body spasming as the spell blew through his throat.

And always, laced through every thought like some nightmarish, sadistic motto, his mother's last moments, her screams as Voldemort tortured her, killed her.

"_Oh hell,_" Titus swore. _"Come on, get up, Potter! Fight back!_"

Harry forced his head up, staring across the cell at the door. Imprisoned as he was in one of the low security cells, the door was made of sturdy wood rather than the usual enchanted steel bars. As a result, the Dementors access to the cell was limited even more than it might usually have been. That didn't help all that much when whole flocks of them horded around the small window, each one desperate to taste Harry's soul. He scrabbled for his wand, pushing the cramps in his arm to the back of his mind, knowing that he could scare them away with two words and a bit of willpower…

But of course, his efforts were in vain. Even low security prisoners were not allowed a wand. Retreating further under the bunk, whether from the Dementors themselves or simply his own memories he could not say, he jammed his fingers in his ears, muttering to himself to try and drown out the screams.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

There came an unearthly shriek, of thwarted rage and pain, and the ice melted. The screams stopped. The pressure on his skull that he hadn't even noticed was there drained away. Warily, he shuffled out from under the bunk, looking over at the door. A guard was looking through the window, concern written all over his face.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Harry's face flushed red with shame. He had fought off hundreds of Dementors when he had been thirteen. He had no business reacting like this, not now. He eased himself upright, not meeting the guard's eyes, and dusted his rather tatty prison robes down.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…didn't quite expect that, I guess."

"It's a disgrace," the guard spat. "You've done nothing wrong! Locking someone up for cursing You-Know-Who, it's bloody ridiculous!"

Harry smiled wearily. "I'll agree with that." He sat down on the bunk, leaning against the wall. "So, you know who I am. What's your name?"

"Perks, sir," the guard said with a smile. "Don't you worry, I'll be here to keep an eye on you. Those creatures won't be back if I have anything to say about it!"

"I thought they'd gone completely," Harry said, frowning. "Gone over to Voldemort?" Perks scowled.

"Mostly, yeah. There's about fifty of the older ones left though, and they just hang around the island, feeding off the prisoners they can get closest to. We can't kill them, obviously, and there's only so much we can do with a Patronus…"

"You're kidding?" Harry exclaimed, incredulous. "Rogue Dementors can just wander in and out?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Perks admitted. "We're working on it though. Might be easier now, if you'll forgive me saying it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked dubiously. He didn't like the look on Perks' face.

"Well…I've never seen them swarm like that. They seem to like you, sir."

"I've always been special," Harry commented in an attempt at bravado. It was rather undermined by the hacking cough that hit him immediately after speaking.

"Hold on a minute," Perks told him sympathetically. From behind the door, Harry could hear the guard muttering a few words, and after a moment, a slot opened in the door, Perks holding a glass of water through. Harry took it gratefully, swigging it down in one motion. It was icy cold, and possibly the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted. His thirst quenched, he realised that he was powerfully hungry.

"Don't suppose you've got any food there, have you?"

"Sorry, never been any good at conjuring that," Perks admitted. "'Sides, more than my jobs worth to give prisoners extra food, even you, sir. Sorry. Next meal'll be along soon though."

"Fair enough." A thought struck Harry. "How long have I been here? Doesn't seem that long, but…"

"But the Dementors have had you on the ropes for a while," Perks agreed. "Three days. Minister's not happy about it. Really kicking up a fuss."

"Oh?"

"Ooh yes, keeps Flooing the Governor for updates!" Perks leant against the door, his voice taking on a more conversational tone. "Reckon you'll be out before too long, he didn't want you in here at all. Understandable really. That Umbridge woman – right cow, ain't she? – shouldn't have put you in here at all."

Harry shrugged. "I did break the law. I'd rather she hadn't, but I can hardly complain, in all fairness."

Perks goggled at him. "Seriously? Bloody hell, I would in your place!"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"It doesn't seem real yet…"

Ron squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort her. "I know. I can't imagine Hogwarts without him."

It was the day of Dumbledore's funeral, and it seemed to Hermione that half of Wizarding Britain was there. Certainly, the entire school had turned out, and even those who she half suspected didn't much care for Dumbledore were at least looking appropriately solemn. Hundreds, maybe thousands of chairs had been conjured and laid out in the ruins of the Hogwarts grounds. Attempts had been made at restoration, but the spell damage seemed to be remarkably difficult to counter-act. While some of it was obviously Voldemort's handiwork – and Hermione wouldn't have put it past him to have done some of the damage deliberately – there was perhaps an ironic tribute to Dumbledore in the lasting effect of his magic, even after death. She doubted that he would have appreciated that tribute though.

"Harry ought to be here," she whispered, unconsciously. Ron's grip tightened around her hand, and she looked up at him. "I know, but not now. Please?"

Ron subsided with a quiet growl. The red head had taken his friend's detention in Azkaban rather personally, and it had taken much persuasion from Hermione and his siblings to stop him going and expressing his displeasure directly to Umbridge. He still bristled every time the subject was even touched upon, however vaguely or briefly. Usually, Hermione was quite content to let her friend rant and rave, since Ron seemed to have a far more interesting way of expressing himself when angry than she could ever manage, for all her superior vocabulary. It didn't seem appropriate today though.

The delegation from the Ministry had occupied the side nearest the castle, not far from the ruined tower. That still astonished and horrified Hermione in equal measure. Hogwarts had stood all but undamaged for a thousand years, and Voldemort had shattered an entire tower with a single spell. Everything she knew about magic screamed to her that nobody could be that powerful. The daily sight of the damage had made something real to her, something that she had only previously understood intellectually. Voldemort was feared not just because of his actions, but because of what he was. Everything about him was unnatural. She wasn't the only one to find the ruins disturbing, of course. Few students would go past it, unless absolutely necessary, or to pay their respects to the fallen. Even some of the Ministry party were clearly unnerved by it; there was a constant ripple of motion as heads turned, just slightly, to look at the damage their opponent had wrought. She prayed that it would inspire more determination to defeat the Dark Lord than fear, but she was afraid that it was a vain hope.

The whispers of conversation died down as the funeral party approached. Dumbledore was being carried – not levitated – by someone Hermione took to be his brother, Aberforth, Alastor Moody, two elderly wizards she had never seen before, and Professor McGonagall. The acting Headmistress was clearly blinking back tears, and there was something devastating in that. The procession moved down the aisle at a stately pace, and laid the Headmaster to rest on a pyre on the shore of the lake. For a moment, Hermione wondered if it was going to be the same as Neville's funeral, but that couldn't be right.

There were speeches, but Hermione paid little attention. What could the various political figures tell them about Dumbledore that they didn't already know? She knew that Fudge and Dumbledore had not had an entirely amicable relationship for much of the former's political career; it seemed the height of hypocrisy for the Minister to be espousing the qualities of the Headmaster. McGonagall was clearly too distraught to deliver her eulogy, but her countenance spoke far louder than words to all those assembled. Hermione let her attention wander. Ron was staring rigidly ahead, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore's covered body. The twins were looking ahead, but didn't appear to be seeing anything. Ginny's eyes were shining, her face wet with silent tears. Their expressions were not uncommon amongst the crowd, scattered through with open, raw grief. Eloise Midgeon was clinging to Theodore Nott, sobbing her heart out. His expression was more curious – if Hermione hadn't know better, she would have said it was something like utter, devastated guilt.

"You all knew my brother, by reputation if nothing else."

Hermione swung her head back to face the front. Her identification had been right; Aberforth Dumbledore was standing in front of his brother's body, grim faced and straight backed. His eyes – the same blue as Dumbledore's, but harsher, more piercing – swept the crowd for a long moment.

"None of you knew him like I did. I saw him at his worst, and his worst was bad. He wasn't the perfect wizard he's always been held up to be. He could be arrogant. He made mistakes. But he damn well learnt from them, and I sometimes think that that was his greatest achievement. There aren't enough people in this world ready to admit when they've screwed up. It took Albus a while to learn how to do that, but he did. He was a flawed man, but for all that he was a good man. He was my brother. I'm going to miss him."

That was the entire eulogy. Hermione watched Aberforth walk back to his seat, not quite able to believe what she had just heard. It was the first time anyone – Death Eaters and the like aside – had even vaguely suggested that Dumbledore wasn't quite as perfect as generally believed in her hearing. There were a few mutterings among the crowd, and Rita Skeeter looked as if Christmas had come early. Hermione mentally scoffed at her, not feeling able to scoff openly under the circumstances.

Aberforth sat down, ignoring the myriad angry expressions being sent his way, and nodded at Professor McGonagall. She nodded stiffly, rose to her feet, and raised her wand.

"If you would all follow my lead," she said. Holding her wand to the sky, she spoke an incantation: "_Obduco in lux lucis_!" A shimmering beam of light burst from her wand, shooting forth over Dumbledore's body.

"_Obduco in lux lucis_!" The congregation mimicked her motion, and hundreds of beams of light shot out to join with hers, forming a burning bright pillar of light over Dumbledore's body. Shining tendrils writhed out of it, snaking around his body.

The column burned painfully bright for one moment, forcing Hermione to shield her eyes. Even behind her hand, she could see – could feel – a pulse of light and magic shooting up the column.

When she looked again, Dumbledore had vanished, leaving only a pyre of white fire, the pillar of light stretching upwards from the flames into the twilight air.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The fire blazed for hours after the funeral had finished. By the time it began to die down, Nott was beginning to wonder if it was everlasting fire. It would have seemed an appropriate tribute for the fallen Headmaster.

He had sat there, in silence, long after everyone else had started to leave, still trying to process the fact that Albus Dumbledore was dead. Still trying to process the fact that it was his fault. He had seen Granger staring at him during the funeral; the thought that she might know what had happened terrified him. Given the situation, life in Azkaban would be the best result he could hope for, he was sure. Death would be more likely, if never officially. He had caused the death of Albus Dumbledore. People would surely be queuing up to make sure that he fell down the stairs while in custody, or some other accident.

He hadn't wanted this, any of it. Even Potter's imprisonment – he would be lying if he said that he didn't get a certain twisted pleasure from the thought of his foe suffering unimaginable torment, but weeks confined with the Dementors…no, not even for Potter, dishonourable, vicious bastard that he was. Nobody deserved that. He had wanted Potter to suffer, but not like that.

He couldn't do anything for him though. Helping him just wasn't within Nott's emotional capacity. Besides, helping Potter would expose his own guilt, and that was not to be thought of.

"Theo?"

He stiffened, her voice sending another spike of guilt jabbing through him. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face her, forcing a slight smile to his lips. "Eloise. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she said, forlornly. "I didn't want to be alone, not tonight. Come inside?"

He turned away, looking back out over the lake. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean, you can't? Don't be stupid!"

"Don't call me that," he snapped heatedly. He could almost feel the hurt his remark caused. He sighed. "Sorry. I'm a little on edge."

She came closer, squeezed his shoulder affectionately, and he closed his eyes for a second. "I know what you mean. I think we all are. It's the not knowing, isn't it? Anything could happen now."

"Not to me," he whispered. His words were caught by the wind, swept away out of her hearing. She sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He tensed up again, but did not push her away.

"The Aurors want to talk to me again tomorrow. They still think that stone had something to do with it, but I can't see how!" Eloise sighed, taking his hand. "I – I don't suppose that you'd come with me, would you? Lend some support?"

"Eloise, please don't ask me that!" He leapt to his feet, pacing about in agitation. Eloise stared up at him, shocked and hurt.

"Theo, what's wrong? You're not still angry about the whole D.A thing, are you? Can't we at least put it aside for now?"

"No!" He whirled to face her, running his hands through his hair. "Eloise, You-Know-Who _did _use that stone to get in."

She stared at him, her expression blank. "But – no, he couldn't have. And how would you know?"

"Because I stole it. I gave it to him."

There was a long silence. His words took a while to sink in, but when she stood up, betrayal was etched on her face. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted Potter gone," he whispered, unable to meet her eyes. "I didn't know this would happen, I swear!"

"You didn't know that Voldemort might try and kill people given the chance?" Eloise spat acidly. "How stupid are you? You let him into the castle, and you can't even say his name!"

"I didn't have any choice!" Nott yelled in sudden passion. "You don't know what Potter's done to me!"

"He hasn't done anything to you, you stupid, stupid _boy_!" Eloise shouted back, her face red. "If you had the balls and the brains not to hang on your mother's every word like she's the second coming of Merlin, you'd know that!"

"Don't talk about her like that!"

"Oh, I think I'll say anything I damn well please to you! How could you do it? How could you be so fucking heartless?"

"Potter deserves everything that can be done to him," Nott snarled.

There was a crack of flesh on flesh, echoing over the still waters. Nott's cheek stung and burned red where Eloise had slapped him. She stood there, panting with anger. "What about Dumbledore then? What about all the children who died because of your stupid little grudge?"

"They – they shouldn't have happened," Nott said in a small voice, looking away. "They were an accident. I'm sorry for what happened to them, I really am – "

"And you think that's good enough, do you?" she said contemptuously. "Saying sorry? Tell that to their parents."

He looked back at her, mute appeal in his eyes, but she turned away in disgust, looking over at the dying embers of Dumbledore's pyre.

"What are you going to do," he whispered.

"I'm going to tell the Aurors the truth, when I can find them." She turned back, and her cheeks were wet with tears. She met his gaze unblinking though, and Nott felt very small indeed. "But it might take a while. If you're lucky, you could probably be out of the castle by then."

"I…thank you." The life of a fugitive – a Death Eater, he realised, in name at least. It wasn't what he'd wanted, but really, he had only himself to blame.

"Don't thank me. Just go. I don't want to see you again," Eloise told him, the tears beginning to fall faster. He reached out his hand, wanting to touch her, comfort her, but she shied away. "Don't! You aren't the man I thought you were. I loved you, and…"

"I'm sorry," he said one final time. She turned away again, unable to look at him, and he walked away. Her sobs burnt themselves into his soul with every step he took.


	24. Prophetic Escape

**Chapter 23: Prophetic Escape**

"So…in summary, we're fucked?"

It was difficult to argue with Peter's rather blunt assessment of the situation, Remus mused wearily.

For the first time in nearly a thousand years, the doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were shut up. It was not the first time that a Dark Wizard had targeted the castle – in all probability, it would not be the last. However, the violent death of the Headmaster, the treachery of at least one of the student body, and the destruction of one of the towers had all combined to create a situation that the board of governors was simply not prepared to tolerate. The students had been sent home, and the wards set over the castle until the Wizengamot and the Board of Governors had decided whether they wished to risk opening the school again. With Dumbledore's death, it didn't seem unreasonable that the school would no longer be quite the high profile target it had been, but many of the governors were understandably reluctant to take such a risk with a whole generation of wizards.

With Hogwarts closed, most of the staff had decamped to Malfoy Manor, with the rest of the Order. In fact, the Manor had more or less become a second home to most of the Order, much to Lucius's displeasure. They were currently gathered around the long dining table, the Malfoy ancestors glowering down at them, centuries of disdain pressing against them.

"Your grasp of the situation is uncanny, Pettigrew," Snape sniped from across the table. The Potion Master had been far from his usual cold demeanour since the attack on Hogwarts. "Anyone would think you'd managed to drag yourself out of self pity and pay attention to the world around you for a change."

"Quiet." Moody's voice cut across the room, silencing the two men before they really got into it. Again. Remus sighed, slumping in his chair. Everything was going to hell these days.

"The situation isn't hopeless," Moody continued, looking around the Order. The former Auror had taken command of the group almost by default; there were few people any of them would have felt comfortable following in replacement of Dumbledore, and Moody clearly had the edge in combat experience if nothing else. It was actually comforting, albeit in a somewhat macabre fashion, to see his grizzled features at the head of the table. "We've taken some serious hits, we can't deny that, but the whole point of the Order is that we're not just one person cursing the darkness. It's Wizarding kind taking a stand."

Snape snorted derisively. "Oh please. Pretty words, Moody, but let's be honest about things, shall we? The Dark Lord waltzed into Hogwarts and killed the greatest wizard of the last hundred years, seemingly without breaking sweat. Oh, and that boy wonder you're all placing so much faith in, deep down where none of you want to admit it? He got thrown around like a ragdoll before being dumped in Azkaban. Dumbledore and Potter together couldn't stop him: I wouldn't place much faith in heroism if I were you."

"Oh shut it, you miserable git," Tonks shot back at him. "You wouldn't still be here if you didn't think it was worth something."

"Ms Tonks, simply because I am slightly less likely to die a horrible, painful death when there are so many other…lesser wizards to surround me, doesn't mean that I think this is all 'worth something'" Snape responded with a sneer.

"If we could all just calm down for a moment?" Kingsley Shacklebolt stood up, radiating serenity and power. The Auror had tended to take a back seat in most meetings recently; it only now occurred to Remus that he had been waiting for the right moment; perhaps gathering information. The brewing argument subsided, Tonks immediately conforming to her superior officer's wishes, while even Snape seemed to respect the older wizard.

"I don't think anyone is going to pretend that we've got another Dumbledore hiding away, or that the situation isn't dire. But we are all capable of great things, are we not? Maybe we can't defeat him in single combat: we'll just have to work out another way of beating him, won't we?"

"I can hardly wait for your suggestion," Snape muttered, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms with a sullen expression.

Kingsley shrugged. "I don't claim to be a great strategist, but I've worked successful cases for years. Tonks, our first step will be?"

"Motive, sir," she snapped back at him, falling back into a lecture hall mentality. Remus was amused to note that she actually sat up straighter as she answered. "Why did You-Know-Who attack Hogwarts?"

"Exactly. Although use his name in future, please," Kingsley said with an approving nod. Tonks beamed, and relaxed as her mentor looked around the room. "So, suggestions?"

"Could there be something at the castle that he wants?" McGonagall piped up, a little shiver of apprehension in her voice. Snape shook his head.

"Like what, the latest reports and exam figures? No, the only thing the Dark Lord wanted was to show the world how much of a threat he is, and he certainly managed that, wouldn't you say?"

"Severus, are you seriously suggesting that Voldemort attacked Hogwarts…what, on a whim?" The apprehension was replaced with scornful disbelief; Snape scowled at her.

"Hardly a whim, I suspect, although the Dark Lord is not always…consistent. No, I mean that there was no ulterior motive that I can decipher. Obviously, my contact with the Inner Circle is somewhat…reduced these days, but he is clearly more powerful than we have ever seen him. Doubtless some of the less valuable prisoners he rescued from Akaban have been pressed into one final service. He wanted to show the world that he could finally beat Dumbledore, that Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, was nothing special. I'd say he succeeded admirably."

"His next step'll be the prophecy, mark my words," Moody growled, leaning forward over the table. His solitary eye span wildly in the socket, looking at them all one by one. "That's one saving grace, he won't try and kill Potter until he knows what it says."

"Small comfort, if Potter is locked up in Azkaban," Snape pointed out sourly. "How long do we think he'll last there, seriously? There are worse things for a boy like him than the prospect of a duel to the death, after all…"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"_Will you make a fucking effort?"_

"Piss off, Titus," Harry croaked. His hands were starting to shake from the effort and the cold, and he slumped against the battered cot, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm. To be fair to the guards, they were doing their best to keep him as protected as possible, but they couldn't be outside his cell twenty four hours a day. There were other prisoners, other duties, not to mention the pressing need not to be driven mad themselves.

Whenever he was left alone, even for a moment, the Dementors swarmed to him, a thick mass of seething hunger and cold emptiness outside the door to the cell. His mouth and throat felt ragged from waking up screaming every time he went to sleep, and he had only a hazy idea of how long it had been since he had had a truly happy memory without a huge effort of will. It was hard – terrifying – to think that he had only been in the prison for about a week. For the first time, he felt a twinge of sympathy for the Death Eaters.

"_Don't tell me to piss off you little idiot! I'm trying to save your life, and you just sit there whining!"_

"What's the point," Harry mumbled to the spirit. That was another thing; he had developed the habit of speaking out loud to Titus. None of the guards seemed to think this all that bizarre, on the occasions they had seen him in action. He couldn't decide if that was worrying or not. "I'd never manage this if we were training at Hogwarts with nothing to stress me out and I was happy and in perfect health. It can't be done."

"_Yeah, right," _Titus retorted with a snort. _"And by rights I shouldn't exist – neither should you for that matter, Scarface."_

"Oh _good_, name calling. I'm so thrilled. What do you want me to do, Titus? It took me ages to learn how to levitate stuff, and we're talking about complex magic if you've got a wand!"

"_Sorry, I assumed your imminent death or insanity might push you into doing some work! Come on, happy memory…"_

Harry sighed, but stretched his hand out, fingers splayed, and concentrated all his mind on the thought of Ginny waking up in the Chamber. The memory had acquired an added poignancy in the aftermath of Neville's death; he really knew how it felt to lose a friend to violence now, after all.

_She opened her eyes, looking around in panic…_he whispered the incantation, pushing his magic through his fingers, but nothing happened.

_She opened her eyes…_his efforts were in vain.

_She opened her eyes…_he let out a scream of frustration, threw every drop of magic he could muster into the spell – and a single white spark burst from his fingertips, fading into nothingness before it hit the floor. He stared at the air it had occupied, stunned that anything had actually happened.

"_Well, it's a start, I suppose," _Titus admitted grudgingly. _"And again…"_

A little trickle of hope welled up inside him, something he was only just realising he had almost given up on feeling again. He rubbed his hands together, trying to generate some heat. Stretching his hand out again, he willed the magic along his arm, concentrating as hard as he could on the memory. Another spark, and a faint – very faint – glow from the palm of his hand.

"_Good, keep it up!"_

"I…am…" Harry ground out through gritted teeth. Sweat began to bead on his brow, despite the everlasting cold. The glow began to spread, reaching his fingers, and starting to give off the barest flicker of heat. His hand began to shake from the strain, but he would not stop, could not…

There was a sharp spike in the heat, and he lost concentration, gasping in pain. His hand was blistered where the embryo of a Patronus had begun to form. He stared at it, rubbing his thumb over it absently.

"_Huh. Didn't think that could happen. Try again."_

"Titus, I'm exhausted, I'm freezing, and I'm just injuring myself. I need a break!"

"_Suck it up, Potter! The Dementors won't give you a break will they? Do you know when they'll be back?"_

"No," Harry muttered.

"_Do you want to be able to produce more than a spark when they do?"_

"All right, all right…" He stretched his hand out once more, and began the process again. After all, he reasoned, there wasn't much else to do.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Cornelius Fudge scowled at the clock on the wall, his nerves beginning to fray. It was never a good sign when one of your subordinates – even a department head – couldn't make himself appear on time. Tulliver was now running nearly twenty minutes late. From other people, Fudge might have…well, not excused it, he admitted to himself, because you had to have standards after all, but he wouldn't have paid too much attention to it. Tulliver though was always scrupulously punctual. He seemed to consider it a point of honour, in fact. That he was so late could only mean two things: that there had been a national emergency that no-one had seen fit to inform their minister of, which seemed highly unlikely, or that the chief Unspeakable was paying him a calculated insult. Or, just possibly, he had died and no-one had got hold of Fudge yet, a thought which rather appealed. He had never liked Tulliver; too rash, too powerful, too secretive. Fudge had always felt as if the man had treated him with barely concealed apathy at best, and obvious contempt at worst.

Of course, Fudge hadn't done all that much to deserve anything more than contempt in recent weeks, even he could admit that. When the best thing that could be said of the last six months of your time in office was that the Dark Wizard terrorizing the country had left survivors in his attack on a school full of children, you had to accept that things were not in a good way. He shuddered to think what would happen if the situation at Azkaban got out. Dementors who could neither be killed not controlled rampaging the corridors at will, feeding until they were gorged from the prisoners. At least the Prophet hadn't got wind of Potter's imprisonment just yet. He could take some comfort from that. People really would be calling for his head on a platter then, Merlin damn Umbridge.

There was a flurry of conversation from outside his office, and his secretary looked round the door.

"Mr Tulliver is here now, sir."

"Oh, how good of him to make time for me!" The sardonic comment brought a slight smile to her lips, but left a sour taste in his mouth. "Do send him in, won't you?"

The pretty blonde disappeared, to be replaced by the rather less appealing figure of Silas Tulliver. Tall, powerfully built, dressed in wool robes and an aura of authority that few could withstand, it seemed. Ironically, that was both the thing that Fudge hated most about him, and the quality that had caused him to request the meeting in the first place. He needed that authority. Still, it wouldn't hurt to remind him of his place.

"Silas, welcome. I was starting to think you'd lost your way…"

The other wizard shrugged off the devastating sarcasm. "My apologies, Minister, an urgent issue arose. All sorted now though, and I can bring you my full attention."

"I would hope so," Fudge remarked, narrowing his eyes. "I appreciate that you're a busy man, Silas, but a brief note of apology at least would not have gone amiss."

Tulliver stared at him for a long moment. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Minister." An awkward silence descended over the room, until Fudge began to shuffle some papers awkwardly.

"Well, yes…anyway, we should move on."

"I couldn't agree more, sir."

"You know about the Potter situation, of course?"

Tulliver's lips twitched in a secretive smile. "Oh yes. I know all about Potter, Minister."

Fudge frowned. There was something off there…as if Tulliver was thinking more than he was saying. He studied the man carefully for a moment, considering the possibilities. Was there something suspicious about it? Or was he just being paranoid – Potter was something of a mystery, after all, so it was only natural that Tulliver would have taken an interest in him. Surviving the Killing Curse was only the start; there was that prophecy, after all, which did fall under Tulliver's remit. No. He was being stupid, reading too much into it.

"Well, you'll agree that he needs to get out of there as soon as possible, of course. It's a horrific state of affairs, particularly with the Dementors out of control like this."

"Not really, Minister," Tulliver said, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "In fact, I'm not entirely sure that Azkaban isn't the best place on the planet for Potter, short of six feet under."

Once again, a silence fell over the office that was almost deafening. "I beg your pardon," Fudge said in blank tones of astonishment. Tulliver snorted derisively.

"Minister, the boy is dangerous, we both know that. It's why he's in Azkaban, isn't it? Use of the Unforgivables? He can hardly complain if he breaks the law and consequences follow, can he?"

"That's not the point, and you know it! And what do you mean, six feet under?"

"It's a Muggle expression, Minister. It means dead, buried."

"I know what it means! What did you mean by it?" Fudge snapped, irritated.

"Precisely what I said, Minister. Let us consider the facts, shall we? Potter survived the Killing Curse through means unknown. He killed a man by touching him, crumbling him to ash and dust. He killed a basilisk. Fought off a hundred Dementors with a single Patronus. Took on a dragon and survived. He's encountered Voldemort two or three times now, and has come off…if not best, then an admirable second. He is powerful. Nobody has really sought to contain that power, quite the opposite in fact. He is _dangerous_. I know people believe that he will be the saviour of our world in the fight against Voldemort, but who is to say what he might become afterwards?"

"Tulliver, he's a fifteen year old boy! A fifteen year old boy who could be hugely valuable to the Ministry!"

"That's hardly my decision to make, Minister," Tulliver responded with a disapproving air about him. Fudge sighed.

"Tulliver, please. I know you're a reasonable man. You can't seriously want this. The Wizengamot are dragging their feet over releasing him. Help me out and I'll owe you a favour. I promise."

"A favour from the Minister for Magic himself? A princely gift indeed!" Once again, there was something off about his tone, almost mocking. It was an effort not to clamp his hands together. Tulliver didn't seem to notice as he continued. "Unfortunately, I cannot in good conscience support you on this, Cornelius. I am sorry, of course, but I will have no part in it. If you want to know why, I suggest that you contact the governor of Azkaban. He might have some interesting information for you…"

Without waiting for Fudge to dismiss him, Tulliver left the office. The Minister watched him go, troubled by the man's closing statement. What more could possibly go wrong?

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

In theory, the Minister for Magic was supposed to visit the fortress twice a year to take part in a ritual to renew the bindings over the Dementors. In practice, Fudge made the trip only once a year at most. In recent months, he had wondered whether this revulsion had allowed the Death Eaters to take control of the Dementors in their attack. A sobering thought, to be sure, and he had resolved to attend to his duties far more rigorously in future. Assuming that everyone lived long enough for him to be able to, of course.

It wasn't just the few Dementors that remained though. It was the voyage. The fortress itself. The guards, most of who were, in his considered opinion, completely insane. Who else would willingly work the graveyard shift on the nightmare island? And that didn't even consider the prisoners – although he had to admit, it was more pleasant to visit these days, when he didn't have to worry about being faced with any of the more dangerously psychotic prisoners. Every cloud and all that.

Fudge hunched himself deeper into his robes, the collar upturned to touch the brim of his hat. He had always assumed the constant rain over Azkaban was due to the presence of the Dementors. Now though, with so few of them there, that theory seemed less likely. A side effect of the perception charms layered over it to hide the island from Muggles, perhaps? Or perhaps something more disturbing; he had read theories from Tulliver's people that in areas of high magical concentration, the environment would mimic the emotions of those living there. If anywhere was going to alter its very surroundings through sheer misery, Azkaban was that place.

Behind him, his two bodyguards – ever present these days, even at Ministry strongholds – were visibly becoming more nervous as their boat approached the island. He couldn't blame them, especially the new one, Auror Tonks. She had never visited Azkaban before, as far as he was aware. She had actually requested to accompany him on this particular trip, and she looked as if she was regretting it.

The boat slowed to a halt as it reached the jetty, and Fudge alighted gracelessly, Tonks going first while Dawlish followed him, muttering queasily about his soaked greatcoat. Looking around, Fudge was pleased to see that the Dementors flight had had one positive affect. For the first time he could remember, he could actually see further than a couple of yards in front of him, the thick fog now reduced to a light mist. Three guards were waiting for them, two of them aiming their wands and the third holding a scroll.

"Minister, Aurors," the third guard began, nodding at them all in turn. "If you'd just wait there a second…"

The other two guards shot off trickles of light, washing them over the trio. Fudge felt a slight prickling sensation, but ignored it through force of habit. It was a now standard security measure at the Ministry as well, a new initiative in the aftermath of the Death Eater attack. The light winked out, and the two guards nodded at the third. He stepped forward, holding out the scroll.

"Sorry about that, sir. Just sign here for me?"

Fudge looped a lazy scrawl on the parchment; it glowed for a moment, then sank into the scroll. Tonks and Dawlish followed suit, and the guard nodded, satisfied.

"Thanks. If you could follow me?"

They did so, the other two guards following them. As they reached the fortress, the three guards conjured Patroni, and Tonks and Dawlish instantly drew their wands.

"Dementors?" Tonks breathed, betraying her nerves. The guard with the scroll shook his head.

"Just a standard precaution. Join in, if you want. The more the merrier as far as I'm concerned."

Tonks hardly looked satisfied by this, but drew her wand anyway, a small lizard appearing next to her. Dawlish produced a salmon, swimming through the air by his shoulder. Surrounded by so many Patroni, Fudge instantly felt happier – he hadn't even noticed that he had been miserable, a marked improvement over previous excursions when he had been reduced to depression after only moments on the island. He smiled at them all, basking in the warmth of the magic.

There were two guards standing watch over Potter's cell, wandlight illuminating the dank corridor, the only sound their breath and the steady drip of water through the cracks in the stone. Part of Fudge, the part of him that he tried to repress as an objective politician, the part that respected old families, and honour, and glory, was appalled that the last Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had been reduced to this squalor. For a moment, he wanted to say something. He held it back. Who was he going to blame, after all? Strictly speaking, he shouldn't even blame Umbridge. The letter of the law had undoubtedly been followed. He smiled at the guards, but they returned only nervous expressions.

"Is something the matter…Perks, isn't it?"

Perks attempted a welcoming smile. "Oh, no…no, everything's fine, sir! Just weren't expecting to see you. Erm, welcome to Azkaban?"

Behind Fudge, Tonks let out a derisive snort, and Perks coloured slightly in embarrassment. Fudge winked at him. "Oh, very happy to be here, I assure you." That drew a bit of a laugh, at least. He'd always been good at setting people at their ease. "Might I talk to Harry?"

Perks and his companion looked at each other apprehensively. The guard who carried the scroll glowered at them. "The Minister asked you a question!"

"Well yeah, ok. I mean, I suppose…" Perks stood away from the door, lowering his wand as if he had been defeated in something. Curiosity and concern warring for dominance within him, Fudge approached the door. What he saw made him gasp aloud, drawing Tonks and Dawlish to his side in the blink of an eye.

Potter was sprawled on the floor – not unconscious, but as if he were reclining on a comfortable bed in his own bedroom rather than the hard, cold stone floor of a prison out of most wizard's nightmares. A pale white mist covered his body. His eyes were slightly glazed, and he was whispering something. Fudge stared at him for a long moment, absorbing it, and then fixed his gaze on Perks, his expression hard.

"How long has he been like this?"

Perks winced. "A couple of days, sir. Well, not this bad, but the mist's been there a couple of days anyway. And he's been talking for longer, but that's nothing unusual. He's in Azkaban, ain't he?"

Fudge leant against the wall, breathing slowly and deeply. He couldn't be the Minister to oversee the Boy Who Lived on his descent into insanity. He just couldn't. It wasn't _fair_, damn it! Not on Potter, not on him, not on the Wizarding world as a whole, if Dumbledore was to be believed. This could not be happening.

"What is that mist, anyway?" Dawlish spoke up in clinical tones. Beside him, Tonks was staring into the cell as if her heart was breaking. It was only then – and Fudge mentally slapped himself – that he remembered the pink haired Auror had met Potter before, and was on speaking terms with his guardians. Perhaps she wasn't just here out of a sense of duty to her employer.

"Well…" Perks hesitated. "I know it don't make much sense, but we reckon it's a Patronus. Not a proper one like, but the…you know…"

"Incorporeal," Dawlish said, rolling his eyes. Perks looked away, embarrassed.

"That's the one. Dementors haven't been back here since he conjured it. If he did conjure it, of course."

"When was that?" Fudge asked.

"Couple o'days. I did say, sir," Perks reminded him.

"You did, of course. My apologies." This was a disaster. An unmitigated disaster. How could he patch this one up? For a moment, Fudge was glad Dumbledore was dead. His reaction to this would not have been pretty.

"Minister."

The voice was rasping, but distinctly younger. Slowly, Fudge turned around, hardly daring to hope. Potter was watching him, his eyes lucid, clear, and shining brightly in the beams of moonlight.

"Potter – Harry, I mean." The stare was making him distinctly uncomfortable. "How are you?"

"I've been better, but then…" Harry rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "I've been worse. Cold though. Is that a newspaper?"

Fudge blinked, and looked down at his coat pocket. He did indeed have a copy of the Daily Prophet in there. The crossword had been his distraction for the voyage to the island. "Erm, yes. It is. Why do you ask?"

"Can I have it? If you're finished with it, of course."

Fudge shrugged, and slipped the paper through the bars. It started to fall to the floor, and Harry stretched out his hand. The paper flew towards him, and he caught it as if he was back on the Quidditch pitch. Behind Fudge, Dawlish choked in shock. Harry dropped the paper to the floor, and clicked his fingers. A spark dropped from his hand, and ignited the paper. He grinned, and held his hands out over the flames. "God, I've needed that. Warming charms can only do so much, right?"

"That's…very impressive, Harry," Fudge said, carefully.

"Yeah, well, I've had a lot of time to practice the last few weeks. Nothing but time, actually." There was the merest flicker of something angry in Harry's eyes for a moment, but it had passed almost before Fudge registered it. "Still can't do much though. I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us?"

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Fudge said. He cut himself off as Tonks came closer, reaching out to touch the bars. Harry's eyes lit up at the sight of a friendly face.

"Hey, Harry. Long time no see," she said softly.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry blinked rapidly as a mass of pink spikes announced Tonks' presence. Sitting up straighter, he waved at her. "Far too long! Got to be a couple of years, near enough."

"Yeah, sorry about that," she said apologetically. "Life kinda got in the way."

"Tell me about it," Harry told her with feeling. There was a moment of silence, neither of them knowing quite what to say. As he looked at her, a familiar wave of nausea washed over him, and he clenched his fist, trying to hold it back. He looked over at Fudge, keeping his face straight. "Minister, don't suppose Tonks and I could have a minute alone? We've got a lot to catch up on."

Fudge looked dubious, but seemed reassured by the fact that Tonks looked just as surprised as he was by the request. He smiled thinly at Harry. "Of course. I'll have you out of here as soon as I can, my boy, you have my word on that. I'm just sorry you're here at all."

"I know," Harry reassured him. "Don't worry about it."

Fudge turned away, and Harry allowed his calm expression to lapse. His face creased with pain as he finally allowed himself to show the strain he was under. "Has he gone?"

"Yeah…Harry, what's wrong? God, we need to get you out of there…"

"Whatcha going to do, bust me out at wandpoint?" Harry laughed bitterly. He flicked his eyes up at Tonks, and she met his eyes without flinching.

"Sure. If necessary."

Harry laughed once more, but Tonks didn't react. He looked at her again, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Well, not just me personally," she amended. "But we'd get everyone together…shouldn't be too hard."

"You were doing so well up till then," Harry said. He knew full well how hard it would be for them to get into Azkaban uninvited. It was one of the few things Perks admired about the fortress, and consequently was one of the few things he was happy to talk about. In all honesty, Harry was sick of hearing about it. "I appreciate the thought though," he carried on, dragging his mind back to the situation at hand.

"Harry, are you all right?" Tonks asked him, in cautious tones. He shot her a wry glance, and she sighed. "Ok, stupid question. Are you alright beyond the obvious problems, is what I mean."

"Yeah…well, no. Not really," he admitted, with a twinge of irrational shame. "I haven't slept in a week – I can't, one way or another. If I go to sleep, then I lose the focus and this Patronus dissipates, and then the Dementors come back. Obviously, that wakes me up again, and I don't really want to think about the effect it must be having on my soul, so…yeah. No sleep."

"Merlin, Harry!" Tonks' hair began to cycle through an entire spectrum of colour and styles as she stared at him in horror. "You can't keep going like this!"

"You've got a solution then?" Harry enquired, bluntly. "Come on, Tonks, we both know there's fuck all to be done while I'm in here. Just keep your boss focused on getting me out."

Tonks looked as if she wanted to say more, but before she could reply to him, a sharp spike of pain ran through his scar, and he let out a yelp. The pain spread, the backs of his eyeballs starting to ache, and in an effort to distract himself he slammed his fist into the stone floor. There was a loud crack, and splinters of stone leapt into the air, his magic wrapping itself around his fist in response to his emotions.

"Harry?" Tonks said in a small voice. He looked up at her, and an entirely different pain washed over him at the look on her face. She was scared.

"It's not just the Dementors keeping me awake," he admitted. "I can't get him out of my head, Tonks. And I mean that literally, not in a fantasy sense."

"Who?"

"Voldemort. Remus and Peter can explain it, they know what I'm talking about. Just remember the name Pantalone, will you? He's some Italian wizard, real friendly with Voldemort. I don't know why though."

"I'll tell them," she promised, her eyes wide. There was a moment of hesitation, and then: "The offer still stands, you know."

"I know," Harry told her, trying to reassure her. In reality, even if he did decide that he was so desperate for release that he would encourage his friends and family to become terrorists for him, he would have no way of getting in contact with them. He could hardly send them a message with the pitiful excuse for a Patronus that he was able to conjure without his wand. Not that he would have been able to do it if he had a wand, as it happened, but that was rather beside the point. "I'll let you know, I promise."

Tonks' expression eased, as if she was greatly reassured by Harry's lie. "You'd better, y'hear me? Or we're going to have words!"

"I'm quaking, believe me," Harry told her with a wink. She grinned, a flash of her usual good humour, before someone called to her. She looked over her shoulder, then turned back with a grimace.

"Time to go, I think. I'll see you soon though, promise. We all will."

She left with one last lingering look, and Harry flipped her a jaunty wave. As the Minister's party disappeared around the corner, he finally, agonisingly, let the vision wash over him. They had been coming with increasing frequency; rarely anything useful, although Harry wasn't certain whether this was because Voldemort had finally twigged to the mental link between them, or simply because the Dark Lord liked taunting him with visions of the atrocities that passed for his hobby. This one was no different. It was made worse through having no-one to talk to. Perks and his colleagues seemed to be pretty decent, but they were hardly going to react well to the news that he could see into Voldemort's head.

They already thought he was crazy, after all.

He could hardly blame them. Two weeks of little to no sleep and constant exposure to Voldemort's insanity had left him feeling a little erratic, to put it mildly. His magic lashed out if he so much as sneezed. The impression of his fist that he had left in the stone floor only minutes ago was a relatively tame example of the stress he was under. Azkaban was the problem, he had come to realise. Just as he had reacted to Hogwarts at the start of the year, so he reacted to the ambient magic of the ancient citadel. Of course, Azkaban was steeped in rather more blood and violent death than Hogwarts. It would be wrong to say he could taste the magic around him, but there was definitely something less than palatable about it.

And then, on the rare occasions he wasn't being treated to a first hand view of Voldemort's depravity, he was faced with the tunnel, and the door. At least the boredom came as something of a relief compared to his visions of Voldemort, he supposed.

His mind's eye snapped away from the vision, and he retched bile, his throat burning. A drop of saliva fell from his lips, but before it had touched the ground it grew wings and flew away, transformed into a vivid purple butterfly. It perched on the bars of the window for a moment, and he stared at it, slightly incredulous. It seemed that magic had a sense of humour.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"_We are here, my Lord."_

_The Death Eater was one that he did not recognise, but Sirius and Barty Crouch stood in the background, warming themselves by the fire. The one who had spoken was a tall, imposing man, with long lank hair, and a face that had seen better days. He radiated authority._

"_So I see, my dear Yaxley." Voldemort spoke in a sibilant hiss, his tones amused. "And I am most pleased to welcome you to this most humble of abodes."_

"_My Lord is too modest," Yaxley protested with a smile. "Any house that you deem acceptable is worthy indeed of all praise and honour."_

_Harry felt the Dark Lord's little shiver of satisfaction crawl through him like a bug that had got under his clothes. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, he felt a surging need to hurt the creature whose eyes he now looked through. _

"_Spitewinter's little gang are heading off to create our diversion," Sirius cut in, stepping forward at last. His godfather looked sleeker than Harry had seen him for a while. He was dressed in fine robes, and his hair glistened with oil, tied back in a luxurious tail. His eyes were sharp though, showing his edge. _

"_What have they planned?"_

"_Who cares?" Sirius said with a shrug. "So long as they keep out of our way."_

_Voldemort chuckled darkly. "True, true." He broke off as a vicious, stinging pain ran up his arms, echoing in the back of Harry's ghostly head. The Dark Lord snarled, and a vase on the other side of the room turned to ash and dust._

"_The wound still troubles you, my lord?" Sirius asked, a flash of wary caution in his eyes. Harry took a grim satisfaction in that sight, that Sirius was, for all his posturing and professions of faith, still just a little bit afraid of his lord and master._

"_Of course it does, fool!" Voldemort snapped. "That bastard…I killed him too quickly. Oh, if I had that chance again, Dumbledore would suffer such torment…"_

"_There's always Potter though, Master," Crouch's ever cheerful voice chipped in. And fuck you too, Harry thought to himself. He would remember that comment the next time they met._

"_Not for the moment," Voldemort said, a hint of irritation in his voice, as if this touched on a subject they had discussed before. "Not until I know the prophecy."_

"_Well then, the quicker the better!" Crouch cried, leaping to his feet and summoning his coat with a gesture. "We'll have it back before dawn, I swear to you!"_

Harry's eyes opened, his heart racing. That…was not good. While he didn't place much value on the prophecy himself – any value, really – Voldemort seemed wary of it, and if it was holding him back from attacking then frankly Harry was happy to keep that arrangement in place. Merlin only knew what might happen if Voldemort ever actually did listen to the prophecy.

He scrambled to his feet, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. The cell was shaking slightly in the wind, and outside a storm was raging. If he closed his eyes and _listened_, although listening was a completely inaccurate description of his actions, he could hear the power in the lightning. It brought an amused smile to his lips. There had been a storm the last time someone broke out of Azkaban on their own.

Striding quickly to the door, he rapped on the bars until Perks appeared, his wand lit and raised to his face. The guard squinted through the bars, his expression perturbed. "Yes, sir? What can I do for you?"

"Perks, I know this is going to sound weird, but I need to get out of here tonight. Understand?"

"Oddly enough, Mr Potter, you're not the first wizard to that that ta me," Perks noted drily. "Prob'ly won't be the last, neither."

Harry resisted the urge to bang his head against the bars in frustration. He could feel it in his bones: the Death Eaters were going for the prophecy – might already be there, for all he knew. "Can you at least get a message out then?"

"Sorry, sir. Problem at the other end, nothing we can do." Perks looked out of the nearest window doubtfully. "Could maybe try an owl…?"

They both shook their head at the thought of sending an owl into the tempest outside. "Maybe not," Harry remarked. "Perks, please. I mean it, this is important. If I don't go _now_, Voldemort is going to attack the Ministry."

Perks looked at him properly for the first time in a while, seeming to notice the ragged clothing, the tatty, sparse beginnings of a beard, the filthy glasses and an expression that Harry would himself describe as a touch manic. His eyes creased with sorrow and pity.

"'Course he is," the guard said reassuringly. "You just wait there, Mr Potter. I'll get someone to come and have a chat with you."

A chat. Harry knew full well what that meant. He sighed, one last, sorrowful sound. He really did not have time for this. "I'm sorry, Perks." He pressed his fingers to the wood around the bars, extending his will and praying that this would work. He was hopeful – really, it was only an expansion of the first trick he had learnt with his sorcery. He pushed his will into the wood of the door, seeking its centre. It was dim, barely a flicker of life left in it after so many years of a slow death, but it was there. Picturing himself standing over it, Harry released a breath, exhaling onto the centre.

Nothing happened.

He stared at the door, willing it to life.

And a crack slid down from the base of the barred panel. Slowly, so slowly, the wood expanded, little shoots bursting from cracks all over it. Perks began to back away, his eyes wide, stammering. Harry couldn't blame him. This was a little out of the ordinary, even for the wizarding world.

The door fell apart, planks of wood crashing to the ground as they sprouted buds. The flowers withered and died as they left Harry's touch, but it was enough. Harry staggered as he walked out of his cell, a rush of blood to the head nearly flooring him. Perks had fallen to his knees, and Harry stood over him, still giddy with magic.

"Perks, I'm really sorry about this…but I'm going to need your boots, your cloak, and your wand."


	25. To The Ministry

**Chapter 24: To The Ministry**

Harry buckled the cloak about his shoulders, basking in the new warmth it offered. It was amazing how much a simple length of wool could offer you, when you had been so cold for so long. He had experimented with some wandless warming charms, but they hadn't gone as planned. He had nearly started a few fires, which was a little warmer than he would have liked. It felt good to have proper boots on as well, although they were a little bigger than he normally wore; a quick bit of wand work soon sorted that out though.

And the wand…it was oak, shorter than his holly wand, and using it felt very, very strange, although the spells seemed to work normally enough. But the simple fact that he had a wand in his hand again filled him with joy. He had never before truly realised how much magic meant to him. There was something comforting about the feel of the length in his hand that somehow wandless magic couldn't quite replace. It still didn't feel like 'proper' wizardry to Harry.

He gave the wand another swish and flick, just for the hell of it, grinning as sparks cascaded from the tip. Then he turned to Perks, his grin fading into a more sorrowful expression. His former warder was sitting against the wall, staring almost petulantly at the younger man. There had been no question of him trying to resist Harry's escape attempt, despite the fact that he had held the wand at that point. Indeed, he had almost thrown the wand at Harry in his desperation to appease him.

"I'll make sure you get this back later, Perks, ok? I promise. If it's any consolation, I might save a lot of lives with this tonight."

Perks just scowled, and Harry sighed. He couldn't blame him, really. He had just broken one of the biggest taboos in wizarding society, after all. He might as well have tried to buy an evening with his wife for the price of a bottle of butterbeer, and even that might have gone over better in some circles.

"Sorry," he said again, feebly. Turning away, he looked around him. A window was his first priority – the one in his cell aside, of course. He didn't much fancy going back inside the cold room again, even if there was literally no way Perks could close the door behind him. There was another barred window at the end of the corridor which would suit his purposes perfectly though, and he set off towards it, stepping over the ruined door and fallen buds and petals. Poking his arm through the window, he cast a Patronus charm, focussing intently on the message he wanted to convey. The silvery shape shot through the air over the courtyard below, vanishing over the other side of the wall beyond. For a moment, the image of a glowing, insubstantial unicorn galloping through the waves of the North Sea filled his mind, and he grimaced, thinking of the Muggle ships it would be sure to pass. He wasn't going to win any friends at the Ministry for this little stunt, but it couldn't be helped.

From below came the sounds of approaching guards, and he braced himself. He was lucky he had had as much time to prepare as he had taken; he had been expecting hordes of guards to appear the moment he had blown up his cell door. Casting his mind back through all the spells he had learnt, or even just looked at in books, he readied himself for a struggle that would be different to any he had fought since maybe his second year. He couldn't afford to do more than incapacitate the guards, never mind kill them – they were, after all, innocent.

Unfortunately, the same limitation did not extend to his opponents.

"_Confringo!_"

A quickly summoned door fragment absorbed the brunt of the blast, but Harry still staggered back a step, raising a shield to deflect the burning splinters flying at his face. Before he could recover, the guards were pouring in through the doorway, a veritable wall of spellfire hurtling towards him. Some of the spells were poorly aimed, and impacted against the walls before they would ever have been a threat to him; the rest impacted against his shield. Ordinarily, that might have been enough to at least buy him some time, but the sheer volume of spells exploding at once did far, far more damage than he had anticipated.

All of a sudden, he was falling, his vision obscured by a cloud of dust and rubble and his ears ringing with the sound of stone grinding and shattering against stone. He landed on his back, staring up at the ceiling – the ceiling of the floor above. The guards had blown a hole in the floor of the corridor.

This was his chance. He pushed himself to his feet, doing a quick mental assessment of any injuries. A few cuts and scrapes, but nothing serious. He whipped his wand up to aim at what remained of the ceiling, and barked out a spell. "_Fumariverto!_" The stone slabs were transfigured into clouds of murky black smoke in the blink of an eye, followed swiftly by the cries of the guards above falling through the vanished floor. Harry paid them no attention, turning his focus to the floor in front of him. Another transfiguration, and when the guards landed they sank into the stone as if it were quicksand. A third spell, and it solidified around them, locking them securely yet painlessly in place. Harry danced between them, muttering apologies as he moved, and threw the corridor door open.

The stairwell was deserted, but he could hear a commotion below. He was hardly surprised, in all honesty. Perks' wand flashed, and the stairway leading down was coated in ice. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it would buy him a little time. He set off up the stairs, wand ready for anything. He was rewarded by the distant sounds of guards tripped up by the icy stairs, and he quickened his pace. Fortunately, the upper levels seemed quieter. He had journeyed four floors before he saw another guard. It was one Harry did not recognise, but he was skilled. The moment Harry's head appeared around the corner, he found himself ducking back for cover. The wall melted where the spell had impacted, and Harry stared at it in shock. He hadn't expected such creative nastiness. The guards below were getting closer, and he looked behind him desperately. He had no idea how many guards pursued him, but he did not fancy testing his wand against them, whatever their numbers. Forward seemed to be the only way. He grit his teeth, readied his wand, and threw himself around the corner. The guard's spell shot over his head, and Harry replied with a volley of Stunning spells. At least one of them clipped the guard, and he fell to the floor.

With that, Harry turned back to the stairwell. An idea had struck him. The spell itself was far from difficult, but he would be replicating it on a level that he had never yet even attempted, never mind managed. He could not be sure it would work, but he had to try. Combat against a group in such close quarters would be a nightmare. He closed his eyes for a moment, focussing all his will, and raised his wand above his head. Water began to pour from the tip, cascading around him. Within seconds, it was at the top of his boots, seeping in and chilling his feet. He kept conjuring water, opening his eyes to watch it pour down the stairs. When the first surprised cry reached his ears, he whipped his wand down and around his body. The water leapt into the air, forming a wall in front of him. Another jab, and it rushed forward, roaring in his ears. Screams echoed up the corridor in the aftermath, and he pictured the guards being washed away, perhaps all the way to the bottom. Guilt stabbed at him; it seemed harmless enough, and he was certain no-one would have been killed, but injured? That was a definite possibility.

He pushed the guilt down, and turned away. He did not have time for this. Gently, he pushed the door open and walked through, his still damp feet squelching against the glistening stone. His path took him outside the tower, into the storm. Rain lashed at him, his glasses instantly obscured, and the wind was so strong that he felt as if one misstep would have him carried away like a leaf. He closed his eyes against the rain, and just for a moment it felt as if the storm flowed _through_ him.

Looking around the balcony he had emerged to, he grimaced as he realised that there was no way down short of throwing himself over the edge. A quick look convinced him that that was impractical at best; he could just about make out the floor below, little twinkling lights suggesting a heavy guard presence. He drew back from the edge, and looked up. There was another staircase running around the tower's exterior, although heading further up was hardly ideal. He threw a considerate glance at the door he had just closed. He couldn't hear any guards approaching, but his trick with the water wouldn't have held them back for long. He surely had only moments, and at least going up might lead to another route down. That in mind, he raised his wand and closed his eyes, muttering a spell under his breath. The air began to shimmer before him, and he repeated the spell, pushing more and more energy into it. Slowly but surely, a lump of marble took shape in front of the door; an inelegant solution, but effective for a while at least.

He set off up the stairs, wishing fervently that the architects who had built the fortress so many years ago had thought to include a hand-rail. The higher he climbed, the slicker the stone steps became, water trickling off them. Slowly but surely, the stairs became ever more treacherous, until eventually Harry was practically walking on ice. He cursed, drawing his wand to melt a firmer path, but he paused as the ice's existence registered in his mind. It was cold, no doubt about that, but cold enough for the rain to freeze?

A further chill sank around his bones, and he looked to the sky. He had forgotten that there were more than guards to worry about in Azkaban.

He could feel them already, sucking at every hopeful thought and memory not currently buried deep within himself. The sky was thick with raggedy cloaks covering insubstantial shapes, their spindly arms outstretched towards him as they swooped down towards him, and Harry pushed every thought but survival from his head: he ran, fleeing up the stairs as fast as he could manage. He practically flew out onto the tower roof, bare but for an unused flagpole swaying in the wind. He turned, looked up again, squinting against the first few drops of rain. There was no way he could outrun them now, if it were even possible to begin with. So he raised his wand, his mind flashing back to a similar evening two years previously, and he called out to the sky: "_Expecto Patronum!"_

For the second time that night, his Patronus leapt through the air. The Dementors scattered like nine pins before its light, swooping away and back up into the sky. Waving his wand, Harry directed it after them, a grim satisfaction surging through him. He wasn't sure if the nightmarish creatures were capable of emotion, of feeling anything other than hunger – but he was going to do everything in his power to put the fear of God into them. Drawing on more of his strength, he conjured another Patronus and sent it after its companion, the two unicorns teaming up to drive off every Dementor they could see. When he was much younger, the sight of Mrs Figg's cats hunting pigeons had been a familiar one, the merest whisper of feline fury sending entire flocks of birds flapping frantically into the air. The effect now was much the same. The Dementors retreated, their deathly pall fading enough that Harry could actually concentrate. The two unicorns pulled back, falling into a circling motion around the tower, keeping the Dementors back. They were not gone though. Harry could still feel them testing his defences, nibbling at his memories. He closed his eyes, screwed his face up in concentration as he attempted to keep them out. Once again, he could feel the storm; feel it as if it were magical at heart.

Memories of his encounter with the dragon the previous year played around his head; could he steal magic from the storm, use it against the Dementors? Maybe even overcome the more normal obstacles he would encounter. Power wasn't everything, but it would level the playing field a little.

"_Don't forget what happened to you…"_ Titus pointed out despondently. The spirit had never taken well to the fact that absorbing magic from the dragonfire had nearly killed his host. It was a valid point though. Tempting though the sheer power the storm contained was, it would do him no good to pass out before he had even left the island.

But maybe – and a grin of devious delight lit up Harry's face, the happiest expression he had worn in a long, long time – he could use it to escape.

He spread his arms wide, letting his mind wander into the centre of the storm. As he had done so many times over the last year or so, whether of his own volition or under Dumbledore's guidance, he reached for the spark of magic that seemed to be within everything around him. He gasped as he felt it, felt the intensity and power of the storm. He was reminded irresistibly of his experience at Hogwarts, the first night of the year, when the ambient magic of the castle had come close to overwhelming him. Without a shadow of a doubt, he had to be cautious: it would be far, far too easy to lose himself within the storm.

He took a deep breath, and when he breathed out the wind flowed through him. The beating rain flew away from him like wisps of dust, and his cloak began to billow as if it were raised on a flag pole. Another breath, and the wind was all around him, curling and wrapping around him. He opened his eyes to find two guards standing at the top of the staircase, staring at him in disbelief. He made a vague gesture with his hand, and the wind lashed at them, driving them back until they retreated. A wild smile crept onto his face, and he pushed the wind down, towards the tower roof.

The shout of almost childish glee he let out as he was sent rocketing skyward was audible even over the rolling thunder. He shot through the circling cloud of Dementors, their malevolent aura sucking at his spirit for mere heartbeats before he had passed through them and out the other side. He let the wind around him relax, and he slowed to a stop so sudden that it hurt. He twisted his head around, trying to ease the whiplash, and placed Perks' wand in the palm of his hand.

"Point me Ministry of Magic," he said, breathlessly. The wand spun in his hand for a moment, then came to a halt, the tip pointing away from him. The grin back on his face, Harry wrapped the wind around him again, and pushed himself forward. He flew faster than he had ever managed on a broom, faster than he had ever thought possible, his eyes streaming behind his glasses.

Such was his exhilaration that he did not notice the sea swelling beneath him. He did not notice the waves following in his wake.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as she sat down, leaning against the wall. It wasn't comfortable, but it kept the portraits of the Malfoy patriarchs of former years out of sight, although not out of mind. She did not like Malfoy Manor. Not at all. She didn't like the way Lucius Malfoy looked at her as if she was something he had trod in and smeared all over his luxurious carpets, although she wasn't certain that the pity Narcissa apparently felt for her wasn't worse. Pitied for being a Muggleborn? At least Lucius' disdain was something she could rail against.

She didn't think that she would ever really understand why Dumbledore had allowed the Order to make its headquarters at the Manor. From a strategic point of view, yes – she recognised that it was incredibly well defended, that few would be willing to attack it directly, even if they knew how to find it. She just couldn't stand being around a man who, it was popularly believed, had made quite the hobby of hunting people like her not so very long ago. She could just about cope with Draco; he was rude, arrogant, incredibly annoying, and she couldn't quite pin down his strange friendship with Harry, which seemed more like friendly rivalry than anything else, but he didn't think she was subhuman.

And the portraits…it would have been bad enough had they simply been Muggle portraits, their sneers would have made their opinions and characters obvious enough. These portraits offered comments whenever she passed them. She tried to stay out of their way, but there wasn't really much to do at Malfoy Manor. There was a Quidditch pitch, which Lucius had 'graciously' allowed the Weasleys' to use under Draco's supervision – theoretically, she could use it as well, but…Quidditch. There was the library, but Lucius had banned even the actual Order members from going in there on their own. Something about ruining his collection, although she rather thought there would be books that might be frowned on in polite society inside.

She wasn't even certain why she was here, really. She wasn't able to contribute – or at least, wasn't _allowed_ to contribute – to meetings, something which stung her pride a little. She wanted to help, wanted to know what was happening. Most of all though, she was worried about Harry. Was he ok? What was happening to him? Was he going to be set free anytime soon? His arrest was a travesty of justice (if technically legal and justified, a quiet part of her muttered), but Fudge did not seem to have achieved anything. The wheels of government turned slowly, it seemed. He would have been out of a Muggle prison by now.

She had come to the corridor in the hopes of overhearing something, anything, from the meeting. Ron and the others had admitted defeat two or three meetings ago, but never let it be said that Hermione Granger wasn't stubborn. She had been there for every meeting so far, and she wasn't going to give up now. Even if she couldn't hear anything through the thick oak door.

She leant her head back against the wall, letting out a frustrated sigh, and as she did so the walls began to flicker with a white light. She shot to her feet, her wand appearing in her hand almost of its own volition, and she aimed it down the corridor, watching for the source of the light. Her jaw dropped when she saw the shimmering unicorn cantering down the corridor. She lowered her wand, recognising Harry's Patronus, and reached out her hand. The unicorn approached, bucking its head against her hand. A wave of contentment and happiness rolled over her, and she closed her eyes briefly. For a moment, she was at peace.

"Miss Granger?"

She hadn't even heard the door open. It was remarkable how quickly the condescension in Lucius Malfoy's voice could dispel that peace. She turned to face him, bracing herself for the full force of his wrath, and the Patronus began to speak, Harry's voice ringing out from its mouth.

"The Death Eaters are going for the prophecy. The Knights are attacking somewhere else to distract the Aurors; I don't know where. I hope you get this in time, but I'm going myself. Just in case. Hopefully, I'll see you all there."

The words echoed around the ancient walls in the silence that followed. Malfoy was staring at the Patronus, dumbfounded, while Hermione was concentrating on not having a panic attack. It sounded very much like her friend was attempting to break out of Azkaban to go and fight people. That…didn't sound good.

"Malfoy, what the hell was that?" Remus Lupin pushed past the Pureblood, staring at his ward's Patronus in shock. As he did so, the message began to run again.

In the commotion that followed, no-one paid any attention to Hermione sneaking away. The others would want to know about this.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The wind had carried Harry across the sea, and most of Britain, in record time. His whole body ached from the pressure and speed, but it would be worth it. It would have to be.

Finding London hadn't been too hard; he'd just pointed himself and gone, using the wind to push his body around. It was an intense feeling, but he didn't think he would be giving his broom up anytime soon. Flying like this hurt. As he hovered above the capital, watching the still teeming streets, he realised that he didn't actually know the city that well.

He drew the wand again, and repeated the Point Me charm. The wand spun in his hand, and it was a long moment before he realised that it wasn't going to stop. He was too close yet far away for the spell to work with precision. Carefully – very carefully – he let the wind slacken around him, dropping through the air. His cloak billowed around him, flapping raggedly; it hadn't been high quality when he got it, and the things he had put it through tonight had taken their toll, leaving tattered holes spotted on it. He landed on a rooftop, a block of flats from the look of things, and repeated the spell. This time, the wand aimed north. He applied a Disillusionment charm, and pushed himself onwards once more. He soared over buildings and streets, watching a train race past beneath him with a giggle. A bit of pressure on the wind had him outpacing the train, and he couldn't help a shout of satisfaction. The glee left him instantly, his expression sobering. He wasn't on a day trip.

He quickly found himself in a part of the city he recognised, and he alighted on another rooftop. The people milling around below were hunched into coats and jackets, bracing themselves against the unseasonal chill and heavy wind. He felt a pang of guilt, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He hadn't planned to bring some of the storm in his wake, but he hadn't had much choice. He shook his head; he was only a few streets away from the visitor's entrance to the Ministry, probably his safest bet. Going through Diagon Alley probably wouldn't be the best move, given his current situation. Instead, he pushed the wind upwards against his feet. He soared over the buildings in his path in a single bound, his arms spread wide, and manoeuvred his descent with some careful nudges. He landed gently in the street, and let the wind fly away from him. He felt a pang of sorrow as his cloak sagged against him. He had never felt more alive.

"_You're a fucking idiot. No, seriously, what the fuck were you playing at? You're lucky to be alive!"_

"Evening, Titus…" Harry paced towards the phonebox, his wand clutched tightly in his hand.

"_Do you ever stop to think before you do something? You just made a sea storm your personal chariot, dragged it in land. That affects things! And don't tell me you can't feel the whiplash, I know you can."_

That, at least, was accurate, Harry admitted to himself as he punched in the code. There was barely a part of his body that didn't feel as if it had been pummelled vigorously. "What was I supposed to do? I needed to get here."

"_You could have stolen a broom, for a start. A whole host of options that you didn't even consider."_

"There was an army of guards between me and the brooms, or maybe you didn't notice?"

"_Of course I noticed, that's not-"_

Titus was cut off by the voice emanating from the phone. "Welcome to the Ministry for Magic. Please state your name, and the nature of your visit."

"Harry Potter, fighting."

"Thank you. Please enjoy your visit."

A small pin badge popped out of the change slot, and he pinned it to his cloak as the phonebox began to sink into the ground. "I still don't see what you're getting at. It wasn't that bad."

"_You could have lost yourself. You noticed it, admit it. Laughing and shouting like that? That's not you."_

Harry didn't respond. He couldn't deny that. The storm had been wild, and he had thrown himself into it. Was this what sorcery would be like? He dismissed the thoughts as he arrived in the Atrium. The fountain was quiet tonight, the water turned off, but the griffins heads on the gates turned to watch him, their eyes eerily blank. He approached cautiously, unsure whether anything untoward was about to happen. The griffins surveyed him carefully, and he let out a sigh of relief when the gates swung open. Something about the badge he wore, perhaps? Or maybe it was more subtle than that, something similar to the blood wards that protected him at Privet Drive. Maybe they knew he meant no harm to the Ministry. He could feel the magic ensnared within them as he passed through, and the fountain was a beacon of light, magically speaking.

His footsteps echoed off the marble floor as he walked towards the lift, alert for any signs of life. Surely there ought to be a few guards around, but the Atrium was deserted. Perhaps the Knight's distraction had been more effective than they had thought it would be. More likely, the Death Eaters had already arrived and disposed of any stragglers. He settled the wand more comfortably in his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a fireplace burst into flame, and he whirled round, a curse on the tip of his tongue. He held it back when he saw the figure pop out.

"Hermione?"

"Harry!" His friend threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face in his neck. "You idiot, what did you do? Did you break out? How did you get here?"

He stared over her shoulder, speechless, as Ron, Draco, Ginny, Fred and George popped out of the fire in quick succession. "I…yes, I did. I flew here. What are you lot doing here?"

"We got your Patronus," Draco explained, "and my father and the Order started a quick strategy session. It was taking a while, so…"

"We thought 'sod it', and Flooed over here," George cut in, beaming brightly. "So, where to, boss?"

"Are you all crazy?" Harry exclaimed, staring at them all incredulously. Ginny met his eyes with a particularly mulish expression, and the others didn't look any less stubborn. He threw his hands in the air in defeat. "I'm going down there to fight them. You don't have to follow me. I'd never ask that of you."

"We know," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "We're your friends, mate. Of course we're coming with you."

"Come on, Potter - without me you're bound to screw up so badly they'll be telling stories about it for years to come," Draco interjected, a hint of a smile on his lips. Fred reached around Ron, and clipped Draco round the ear. Harry grinned, and shook his head.

"I still say you're nuts," Harry said. "But you've got to be the best friends anyone could ever have. He was smiling so widely he thought his jaw might break. He couldn't think of anything that might make him prouder than he felt at that moment.

"Come on. They'll be downstairs. We need to find the Hall of Prophecy."

Harry stepped forward, and his friends fell into formation behind him, drawing their wands in one joint motion. He set off towards the lift, and they all followed behind.


	26. Mystery upon Mystery

**Chapter 25: Mystery upon Mystery**

The lift was clearly bigger on the inside, but even so it was a tight squeeze with all seven of them inside. Harry went in last, determined to be at the front in case of a welcoming committee when they reached the Department of Mysteries. All his friends were quite handy with a wand, but he had rather more faith in his own abilities than theirs, if he was honest. He clutched Perks' wand so tightly he thought he might snap it, such was his anticipation of a fight. He prayed they might find the prophecy and get out of there before the Death Eaters even showed up, but it seemed unlikely somehow. He was never that lucky.

"So…you flew here?" Hermione asked, finally breaking her ponderous silence. She had clearly been mulling the issue over since he had mentioned it, trying to work out how. "I can't imagine they just leave brooms lying around at Azkaban. How did you get out?"

"I turned my cell door into plants, then fought my way to the top of the highest tower in there, before basically pushing myself across the North Sea and to London with the wind," Harry explained shortly, not wishing to go into too much detail. There was silence behind him, and he turned his head slightly. Each one of his friends was staring at him, amazement on their faces. "It wasn't as easy as it sounds," he offered as his only further comment.

"You can fly without a broom?" Ron said, stunned and clearly thinking hard. "Heh. The Cup is ours for the taking next year!"

Hermione scowled at him, and clipped him round the ear. "Could you be a little less thoughtless, Ronald? Harry doesn't want to be thinking about Quidditch now!"

"Actually, I have missed Quidditch," Harry mentioned, largely to see what reaction the comment would inspire. "Haven't been able to keep up with the scores recently. Although I don't think the flying thing is going to be all that useful. Not all that many storms powerful enough for me to steal wind from, you know."

"Well quite," Draco remarked, as if Harry's statement was a masterful piece of rhetoric, and not something he could only barely understand. Harry grinned at him.

"Anything else I missed while I was away?"

Draco looked away, scowling bitterly at something, while the others looked at each other uneasily. "I don't suppose you heard about Nott, did you?" Ginny asked, tentatively. Harry shook his head, and she sighed. "He…well, you remember Eloise lost her keystone? He stole it from her, and he – well, he gave it to You-Know-Who. He was hoping that You-Know-Who would break in and kill you, apparently."

"He nearly got his wish then, didn't he," Harry said, calmly. His tone did not reflect his true feelings, however. His fingers twitched as if Nott stood in front of him, just out of reach, and he could feel his magic roiling inside him, a mirror of the storm he had latched onto not two hours earlier. "Draco, you knew him best; was he actually insane, or just really focussed?"

"I don't think I knew him at all, actually," Draco muttered. "I never saw anything like this coming. None of us did."

Harry grunted. He couldn't criticise the Slytherin for that. Neither had he, when it came down to it. "Where is he now?"

"Nobody knows," Hermione said. "He ran away from Hogwarts, we know that. Nobody's seen him since then. Nobody who's saying, anyway."

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later." He could all but feel their eyes on his back, watching him warily. He could understand it, but he was determined to keep his cool over it, not to swear bloody, murderous vengeance. It had been bad enough doing that with Sirius, and he had been practically family. Nott was nothing, a mere pawn in a grander plan. He had to be.

But his actions had brought about Dumbledore's death…Harry's fist clenched, almost of its own volition, and his eyes hardened. He pushed the thought away. There was more to Nott than met the eye, and he wanted to know the full story before launching himself into another quest.

"Department of Mysteries, level Four." The lift doors opened with a resonant _ding_, and the calm voice ushered them out into the corridor. It was as quiet as, appropriately, a tomb, Harry thought. The lack of activity was beginning to unnerve him. Bodies would have been horrific, but he had expected those. The distraction attack, whatever and wherever it was, couldn't have taken every last person in the Ministry to resolve. If the Knights had that kind of power, Voldemort would have walked into the Ministry months ago, surely. Would the Death Eaters have cleaned up so thoroughly? There wasn't even any blood.

"Where is everyone?" Ginny said in hushed tones. Nobody answered her, and Harry could hear his friends bunching closer together, reacting to the oppressive quiet. Shaking his head sharply, he set off down the corridor, his cloak billowing in his wake.

"Come on. We're not going to get anything down standing around like this."

It was a few seconds before anyone followed him, but follow him they did. He prowled along the corridor, stretching out as best he could to see if he could sense anyone – or anything, he pondered uneasily – lying in wait. As far as he could tell though, they were the only ones down there. He stopped when he reached the corridor that had haunted his dreams for so long. In the flickering torchlight, it was hard to make out the carvings on the door at the end; all he could see resembled a few scratchings in the stone.

Perhaps more importantly, he could not hear any whispering, intelligible or otherwise.

Emboldened by the silence, he strode towards the door, reaching out to see if it felt the same as it did in his dreams. He was used to it feeling angry, unsettled; now it felt placid, almost calm, but…there was something eager about it, like a dog waiting for a ball to be thrown. A big dog, possibly closer to a wolf on the evolutionary scale. Harry shivered, suddenly wary of touching it. This could all go horribly wrong, and it wasn't a dream. The door had been intimidating enough when he was asleep, but it couldn't really hurt him there. Now though…now there was the very real possibility that something awful could happen, and it wouldn't just be him getting hurt – it would be his friends, the people who had blithely followed him into danger.

He took a deep breath as that fact resonated around his mind. They had followed him, he hadn't asked them to come. It was their choice. He should and would be cautious, but he couldn't shield them from everything. They were here. They had to go through the door. There wasn't much more he could do to protect them. He stepped forward, bracing himself for any sort of reaction.

Stone ground on stone, and the door rolled open ponderously at his approach. The corridor beyond was pitch black, and silent. Harry stared at the doorway, dumb-founded. That had been deeply anti-climactic. After all that time sweating – literally – over the bloody thing in his dreams, and it just rolled open without even touching it? It was almost insulting. He wasn't going to complain about the result though.

"Told you it was this way," he called out to the others over his shoulder, trying not to let his voice tremble. The least he could do for them was show them that he was confident, that he wasn't second guessing the whole scheme to come here. Part of him desperately wanted to wait here for Remus and whoever else showed up from the Order, but he had no idea where the Death Eaters where. At this very moment, they could be taking the Prophecy and making their way back to their master.

"After you, fearless leader," George murmured. Harry dearly wished that epithet was true, but he marched off into the darkness, raising his wand to cast a ball of light before them. It illuminated cold, dank stone, seamlessly worked together. In fact, as he looked closer it was hard to see if there were actually separate blocks of stone. The walls, floor and ceiling gave every impression of having been formed from one solid block – or maybe one enormous piece of stone had been hollowed out. Theoretically possible, he supposed, given the use of magic, but even magic usually left a few flaws in the structures he had seen. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Hermione studying their surroundings intently, clearly determined to absorb everything possible. The others seemed to be understandably intimidated by their surroundings; each of them had lit the tips of their wands, holding them close to maximise the light around them.

Without warning, the corridor exploded with light. Harry dropped into a crouch immediately, scanning their surroundings for enemies, but the corridor was still deserted. Slowly standing up, he looked at the walls. They were on fire. Perplexed, he stepped closer, feeling the heat from the flames. There were no torches or candles; the dark stone had just sprouted little plumes of fire at regular intervals. He breathed out on the nearest one, and was not entirely surprised to find that it didn't so much as flicker.

"Illusions?" Draco asked, eying the flames warily.

"I don't think so," Harry said, shaking his head. "They're definitely warm…" He twirled the wand in his hand, and snatched a piece of cloth out of the air. He threw it at the ball of fire, and stepped back as the cloth fell to the floor, burning brightly. By the time it reached the floor, only cinders remained. "Definitely not an illusion."

"Where's it coming from then?" Ron said.

"Buggered if I know. Come on." Harry set off again, quickening his pace; with the sudden illumination, he could see the end of the corridor. The door at the other end was the same smooth stone as the walls and floor, with no markings to differentiate it from the rest of the corridor. Indeed, he was only assuming that it was a door at all, and not just another wall – there didn't appear to be any other way out of the corridor. This time, he didn't wait around to see what happened, but strode towards it confidently. Sure enough, the stone swung back silently, as insubstantial as air. He stepped through into a large, circular room, with doors evenly spaced around the wall. The others followed him through, all of them congregating in the centre of the room, and the door slid shut once more.

The firelight went out, plunging them into pitch darkness. Before any of them could react, the room began to spin, so fast that they were thrown to the floor. Harry grunted as he landed, the momentum of the room keeping him pressed to the floor. Just as abruptly as it had started, the room shuddered to a halt. The flames reappeared, and Harry looked around in confusion.

"So…what was the point in that?" Fred complained, rubbing his head. A vivid bruise was forming, where he had apparently hit his head in landing.

"Which door did we come through?" Hermione asked, looking around.

Harry swore. She was right. The spinning had completely disoriented him, and all the doors looked the same. He picked one at random, walking through even as it swung open. The door that opened revealed an astonishing room. Harry couldn't help himself, walking in utterly slack jawed. The others followed him closely, gasping in awe. The room was dark, illuminated by little pin pricks of light. Here and there, there were bigger spots; Harry recognised each one. As he reached the centre of the room, the spots of light shot out of the walls. He raised the wand in an automatic defensive gesture, but all they did was float around the room. Thousands of little motes of light spawned around him, glowing brightly golden. He took a step back, and smiled as he realised what it was. The Sun. They were standing in a room sized model of the solar system, made of light.

"Why would somebody make this?" Hermione asked breathlessly. She was looking around with wonder on her face, and reached out to touch the Earth. Her fingers passed through it, and she giggled. "It's warm."

"Maybe they study it somehow?" Draco suggested.

"Why would the Ministry be studying the solar system?" she replied. "Looking for aliens?"

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised," Harry said. "Let's face it, they're more likely to find something than Muggles. Got to say though, I wouldn't need a reason to do something like this. It's beautiful."

"Sappy sod," George said with a snort, but he didn't disagree. He was staring around the room, almost hypnotized. Harry grinned at him, and turned to examine Saturn. The rings around it dispersed around his fingers as he waved them through, like little motes of dust in the sun. He could feel the magic inside them, something pure and simple.

"Maybe it's something like the ceiling in the Great Hall?" he said, heading over to Jupiter. He poked his finger through the red eye, waggling it around. "Y'know, an exaggerated…weather…thing?"

"I don't think there's much weather up there to speak of," Hermione pointed out. "Solar storms, maybe, but I don't think they affect us that much."

"Who cares?" Ron called from the other side of the room. He had walked right into another planet, his head poking out of the top. He looked at Hermione and winked. "Hey, Hermione – I'm in Uranus."

She stared at him and sighed. "So you are Ron. Well done. We shouldn't hang around too long, Harry."

Harry nodded, ignoring Ron's quiet protestions about the humour of his joke, although he did notice Fred high fiving him surreptitiously. "There's no other door in here – must be one of the other ones."

"Let's go then!" Draco led the way out of the room. Harry brought up the rear, pushing Ginny gently out of the door as she took one last lingering look behind her, as if trying to imprint the spectacle on her mind forever. As he walked out, the lights dimmed and the planets vanished back into the walls, only the stars remaining.

As the door clicked shut, Harry felt the room start to move. Whirling around, he slashed his wand across the door, a streak of blazing light scorching across the stone. As the lights went out, the spell remained, burning into his eyes as it span around. When the room stopped spinning, he found himself with spots in front of him, but he knew which door they had last been through.

"Good thinking," Hermione remarked approvingly. "Which one next?"

Harry shrugged, and headed over to the door opposite the space room. The room that was revealed was, if anything, even more cavernous than the last. The room declined, laid out like a theatre or opera house. Or, Harry thought, an arena – the room was circular again, the floor carved into rows upon rows of stone seats, all centred round a raised platform. On the platform was a ragged veil, hung from a crumbling stone arch. The veil wafted in the breeze – which was odd, because there was no breeze to waft it. Harry took a deep breath, and almost gagged. The room reeked of death and decay, a sour taste in his mouth. He closed his eyes, and tried to tell himself that he couldn't hear screaming, pleas for mercy, ringing in the back of his head. He braced himself against the door frame, and in doing so created space for others to get past him.

"What on earth is this?" Hermione asked as she squeezed past him. She cast a ball of light high above the arena, all the better to see the veil. "Something they're researching?"

"I don't think so…" Draco had followed her in, and was staring at the veil, something like fear on his face. "If that's what I think it is, it's killed a lot of people over the years."

"How? It's a piece of cloth, it's not like it's going to attack us with a knife…" Fred spoke confidently, but he didn't enter the room, staying in the circular hall and looking over Harry's shoulder. Draco shot him a disdainful glance.

"It's a gateway. No-one knows where, going by the stories. They used it centuries ago, then decided Azkaban was the more humane option."

"We don't want to go through here," Harry said under his breath.

"There isn't anywhere to go through to," Ginny pointed out. "We don't need to worry about it. Let's just…" She trailed off, her eyes on the veil. There was something disturbing about her expression. Something longing, to Harry's eyes. He touched her shoulder and she started, jerking back quickly. She blinked, and looked away from the veil.

"Let's go," Harry said firmly. No-one argued. When he repeated the streak of light over the door, it burnt particularly vividly. This time, he had moved to a door before the spinning had completely stopped. It completely failed to move. There was no handle, nothing to indicate how to open it, as with all the doors around them. On the other hand, as with the main door into the Department, there was an eye carved in the stone, slab bang in the centre. It seemed to watch him, mocking his confusion. After a moment, the others followed him, their footsteps echoing loudly around the stone room. They clustered around him as he ran his hands over the door tentatively. It was an uncomfortable realisation – the door must have been warded differently to the others.

"Have you tried _Alohamora_?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and turned to glare at Draco. "Do you really think that the most secret part of the Ministry for Magic is going to be opened up with a basic charm?"

"Hey, it's possible," the blond replied defensively. "Deceptively simple, you know?" He drew his wand, and fired off the spell. Absolutely nothing happened, and Draco shrugged. "At least we know now. You'd have been kicking yourself if it had turned out to be right."

"Yes, of course," Hermione muttered sarcastically. "Maybe you should try _Mellon_ next."

Harry smothered a grin as Draco looked at her in confusion. "I think there are probably a whole host of complicated spells on this. We're not going to crack it without a key."

"Then how are we supposed to get in?" Ron asked in exasperation. "Don't tell me we've come here for nothing!"

"I don't think so…" Harry reached up to the carving of the eye, and stroked it with his fingers. As he did so, he let little tendrils of magic seep through his fingers, felt them flood into the stone around the eye. Something in the door stirred, and it was as if a connection had been made in a circuit. Something in the door _pulled _at him, his magic pouring out of him. He tried to take a step back, but it was as if a giant fist had closed around his core, holding him in place. The magic stormed out of him, faster and faster, until he was sure that he could have no more to give – but when he focussed, quashing his panic as best he could, he found that nothing had changed; there was just as much magic in his system as ever there was. Before he could properly assimilate the information, the fist released him, and he staggered back.

"Harry, are you al-" Ginny trailed off as the door creaked. It slid open, vanishing into the wall – an impressive feat, given the curve of the stone surrounding the doorway. His senses still straining, Harry felt a little tremor of anticipation as he watched the door disappear; it felt sated. As if something it had been waiting for for a long, long time had finally happened.

"I'm fine, Ginny," he said, not entirely truthfully. He tightened his grip on his borrowed wand. "We're not going to find out anything just standing here."

Again, the room seemed vast, but it was hard to tell; there was little light to see by. Harry took a step inside, expecting flames to burst from the walls once more, but nothing happened. He raised his wand, casting a ball of light towards the ceiling. The were-light revealed an incredible ruby, suspended from the ceiling by thick golden chains. Harry cocked his head, examining it. It looked…familiar, somehow. He took a tentative step towards it, and halted. The ruby had begun to glow, white light shining forth. The light streamed over him, and –

He fell to his knees, palms down to catch himself, his eyes wide. He had never felt anything like that. The closest thing he could compare it to was the magic the unicorn had cast into him, just a few short years ago. Even that, intense and wonderful as it had been, had been nothing compared to this. Even direct contact with Voldemort's inhuman magic had not affected him as much – even the magic of the door he had just opened paled in comparison. He looked up at the ruby, and knew two things, knew them as if it were a fact of life, drilled into him on some level deeper than knowledge: the ruby was old, and it was not of human origin.

"Harry? Harry, are you all right?"

He forced his gaze away, turning to look over his shoulder at his friends. They were standing, tightly bunched in the doorway, their wands raised and aimed at the ruby. To a man, they wore expressions of unknowing fear.

"Can't you feel it?" he asked them, scarcely able to believe it possible. Ron shook his head emphatically.

"It's just a fancy stone, mate. Looks pretty, but that's it."

"God, I've never felt something like this…" Harry forced himself to his feet, reaching out to touch the ruby. He dimly heard someone – Hermione? – shouting to him, but he ignored them. His fingers were in the light when something hit him in the back. A shock ran through him, and he spun around, fire erupting into life in his palms. Ginny stood there, her wand shaking in her hand, her expression set. She was very carefully not looking at his hands.

"I really don't think you should touch that, Harry," she said, her voice trembling. Harry blinked. When he wasn't looking at it, it was easier to think. Ginny was right, he realised. He couldn't get any sense of the ruby, not the pure simplicity of the illusion, nor the foulness of the veil. He stepped closer to her, trying to smile reassuringly.

"I think you might be right. I just – I feel like I should know what it is, you know?"

"Not really, no," she said bluntly. He grinned. He supposed she wouldn't, at that. He looked around the room, trying to focus on anything except the glowing ruby. It was harder than he would like to admit. It was filled with desks and chairs, the desks covered in parchment. It looked like an office – or, he realised, a lecture hall. If you imagined the ruby as some sort of bizarre lecturer, and the people at the desks taking notes…although that was stupid. He shook his head, and looked back at Ginny. She was still staring at him, her eyes protruding alarmingly.

"What's wrong?"

"Harry, your hands are on fire!"

"What?" He looked down, startled. Sure enough, the fire he had called when Ginny had jinxed him still burnt there. "Huh. I forgot about that." He waved his hands, and the flames vanished. He moved his hands carefully, tilting them slightly the better to examine them. Not a mark on them, not even the faintest hint of residual heat. Somebody smarter than he would probably be able to divine something fascinating from that; he was just glad he hadn't injured himself.

"How the bloody hell do you forget your hands are on fire?" Hermione barked at him. He shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't even know how I did it, to be honest. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

Hermione tutted, and walked behind him to have a closer look at the ruby. He rather got the impression that she didn't believe him; he supposed self-deprecation would ring a little hollow after some of the things she had seen him do. But then, she didn't really understand how much work went into it all – it was hardly a matter of learning an incantation and a hand movement. He looked down at his hands again, and tried to ignore the unease at the back of his mind. He really shouldn't have been able to do that.

"I think there was something else here," Hermione said from behind him. He turned to find her bent over a stand that he hadn't noticed before, a thin layer of dust over the top of it. Two prongs stood out of the base, and it looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

"I've seen something like this before – somebody my aunt and uncle took me to visit, they had a sword collection. I think there ought to be a sword here."

"Who collects swords?" Ron asked curiously. "I mean, I can get why Muggles might want one or two around, they haven't got wands to defend themselves with, but a collection?"

"They can be important historical artefacts, you philistine. Not to mention artistic," Draco responded, with a long suffering sigh. Ron rounded on him, his cheeks flushing startlingly quickly.

"Important historical artefacts my arse! It's a sword, who cares who killed who with it?"

Draco fixed the red head with a level gaze. "This is why everyone thinks you're lower class, Weasley. You have no appreciation for the finer things in life."

Ron's brothers knew him well; by the time his wand had left his belt, but before the tip was actually poking Draco in the eye, they had moved in and grabbed his arms, pulling him back. He shook them off, and went for his wand again.

"Perhaps we could do this later? You know, after we're not wandering around the Ministry looking for Death Eaters?" Harry suggested, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Ron flushed again, this time with embarrassment more than anger. He pointed at Draco meaningfully, then turned and walked over to join Hermione. Draco hung back, a vague expression that might have been guilt, but might equally have been boredom, hovering on his face. Shaking his head, Harry turned back to the ruby.

This time, he felt the ruby's magic layering itself over his thoughts and instincts – although it was a close run thing. He quickly wrapped himself in the comforting glow of his own magic, hoping to stave off the other presence. The result was not what he had hoped. Instead of repelling the other magic, the two fields seemed to bond. He could still feel the magic from the ruby moving around him. He took a step back, raising his hand in a borderline subconscious gesture of defence. His own magic, far from blocking off the foreign magic, seemed to be welcoming it with open arms. For all that the other magic seemed to cloud his thoughts though, it did not feel dangerous. If anything, he felt welcomed. It was as if the ruby was greeting him.

He reached a decision, and took a purposeful step forward. Before any of his friends could react, he had touched his left hand to the surface of the ruby, his other hand poised to unleash all the curses he could think of should the need arise. The result was anti-climactic: absolutely nothing happened. He withdrew his hand, feeling a little foolish. Behind him, he could hear Fred and George sniggering. Trying to ignore them, he leant forward, pretending to examine the ruby closer. The closer his head was to the ruby, however, he realised he could hear something. Turning his head, he pressed his ear tight against the ruby. It was deathly cold to the touch, but he could feel an incredibly faint vibration in time to the sound.

"Harry…what are you doing?" Ron asked. Harry waved a hand at his friend to be quiet, and closed his eyes in concentration. It was a long moment before he stood up, frowning. The frown faded to embarrassment as he looked at his friends; they were all giving him considering looks, as if they weren't entirely sure of his continued mental fortitude.

"I could hear it saying something," he explained. Even as the words left his mouth, he realised that they probably wouldn't do a great job of convincing anyone of his sanity, but he decided to ignore that issue for now. "I think it's called Tamuz's Eye. I think."

Fred nodded slowly, and shrugged. "If you say so. Never a dull moment with you, is there, Harry?"

"I strive to entertain at all times," Harry shot back. "Shall we move on?"

"Couldn't agree more," Ginny said, giving the ruby one last look of disdain. "This thing weirds me out, it really does."

"I think Harry wants to take it home," George whispered to her with a grin. "He does seem very fond of it." He leant away, chuckling as his sister reached up to slap him around the head. Grinning to himself, Harry led the group onwards. This was the first room they had come to that had a second door inside; he still had absolutely no idea about where to go, but this seemed promising.

The other door led onto another corridor, stretching off into the distance in either direction. It was featureless; not the same bleak stone as the corridor they had entered through, but more a blankness that spoke of functionality more than anything else. The other rooms they had seen had been impressive, showy – magical, above all else, albeit not necessarily in a pleasant way. Harry got the distinct impression that this was the real gateway to the Department of Mysteries, more-so than the spinning room they had passed through. Ordinary members of the Ministry probably never saw beyond the first few rooms.

Interesting as that insight may have been though, it did not help them with their present mission. There were dozens of doors leading off the corridor, and he had no idea which one might be which. He raised his hand, and conjured a ball of light. It shot off towards one end of the corridor, and the faint light it projected revealed that the corridor curved. Another ball in the other direction showed the same thing.

"This place could go on for miles," Draco moaned. "How are we supposed to find this bloody thing?"

"With magic?" Hermione suggested tartly. Moving to stand beside Harry, she placed her wand in the palm of her hand. "Point me Hall of Prophecy!"

The wand spun rapidly, before shuddering to a halt pointing towards a door on the left hand side of the corridor. She smiled smugly at Draco, who looked away irritably. "There was no way that should have worked down here."

"Of course there wasn't," she said, superiority oozing from her voice. She had always relished the opportunity to score a point against the Pureblood. "Do you want to lead the way, Harry?"

He obliged, going through the door wand first, ready for any sign of trouble. The room was, again, deserted, although it had more of a sense of habitation. There were two desks covered in paperwork, and a large fish tank in the corner, a curious touch for a research department. Then he looked closer.

"Erm…is it just me, or are those fish brains?" Ron said, voicing Harry's own thoughts.

Sure enough, there were two brains swimming around, trailing tentacles behind them. As Harry and his friends watched, appalled yet fascinated, the two brains bumped against each other, in a manner resembling nothing less than a cat bumping against its owner.

"That's the creepiest thing I've ever seen," Ginny said flatly. Harry looked at her dubiously.

"Really? 'Cause you've seen some pretty fucked up stuff…"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Brains with tentacles? Why would you do that? This is just…can we go?"

"They are a little odd," Hermione admitted, her eyes swivelling to follow the brains on their path around the tank. She couldn't seem to look away.

"A little odd? Your mastery of the art of understatement never ceases to astonish me, Granger," Draco snarked at her. Harry couldn't help but agree, but he walked off before another argument could ensue. Draco hurried next to him, trying to look as if he wasn't avoiding Hermione, who was glaring at him very pointedly. He looked at Harry pleadingly, but Harry shook his head.

"You started it, you know what to expect."

"Some friend you are," Draco grumbled. "I come out here, at great personal risk, and this is the thanks I get?"

"I'll buy you some Fire Whiskey," Harry replied, lying through his teeth. Forestalling any further comment, he pushed the next door open, stepping through. A quick scan of the room revealed nothing as bizarre as the brain tank, nor as incredible or threatening as the other rooms they had seen. What could be seen certainly qualified as curious.

The room was expansive, although not as vast as some of the others they had seen. In the centre of the room though was a wide pillar of shimmering light, with several objects suspended within. As Harry approached, it became apparent that they were wands; ten of them, give or take, each one releasing little bursts of magic every few seconds. As they watched, a particularly lengthy wand snapped off a brilliant blue plume of magic, and as the spell spiralled slowly upwards towards the ceiling, some of the light went with it.

"They're runes," Hermione breathed. "The light, it's made up of runes!"

Closer examination proved that she had the right of it; the light wasn't shimmering, but each individual glimmer was a different rune. They were moving too fast for Harry to make out, but he could see that more clustered into existence around the new spells as they were cast. As with the brains, there was no indication as to the reasoning behind such an experiment. It was strangely beautiful though; Harry would have been quite content to sit and watch it for a while, had they not had places to be.

They passed through into another hallway, and Hermione repeated the Direction Charm. Following her wand's lead once more, they walked onwards. A few yards down the corridor, the wand pointed them through another door, which slid open at their approach. By now, Harry was almost certain that they must have gone further than the rest of the Ministry actually extended. Either the Department was spread under half of London, or it was bigger on the inside. Either possibility disturbed him a little, if he was brutally honest. That much space or effort devoted to one secretive group of people rang all sorts of alarm bells.

The room that they entered next raised him from ringing bells to a cacophony fit to rouse an entire city, and proved once and for all that the Department of Mysteries didn't give a fig for the laws of physics.

The high vaulted ceiling stretched further than they could see, obscured in murky darkness, but the ceiling had to be a good fifty feet above them. Rickety rows of shelves towered over them, terrifyingly fragile in appearance, but deceptively sturdy to the touch; Harry could feel good solid oak when he touched the nearest one, with the faintest tingle of magic emanating from it. Each shelf was stacked with silvery glass balls, mist swirling within them.

"What are they?" Ginny leant closer, examining one of the orbs. She held out her hand, touched the tip of her finger to the smooth glass, just for a second. There was a blinding flash of light, followed by a thud. When Harry's vision cleared, his wand was raised and the younger girl was sprawled on the floor, staring at the orb in stunned befuddlement. "What the hell happened there?" she demanded, pushing herself to her feet. She had to hold onto the shelves for support, but she was very careful not to touch any of the glass.

"I think they're protected – it looks like memories inside," Harry offered. "Erm…are you ok?"

"Just wonderful, thanks for asking!" she shot back at him with a glare. "Memories of what? I can't see any Pensieves around."

Harry turned back to the shelf, inspiration striking. Leaning down, he could see faint labels, mostly hidden by the thick dust. The one Ginny had touched read: "_Leonard Hawkins, to Brandon Balfour, concerning the coming Solstice. 12/08/1993._" Harry grinned widely. They had found it.

"They're prophecies! We're in the right place – we just need to find the prophecy, and we're sorted!" He turned to face his friends, beaming at them, only to be met with rather downcast expressions. "What's up?"

"Harry…" Ron started to speak. "Have you seen this place?"

Harry looked round, and quickly saw Ron's point. The room was vast – comfortably bigger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, probably twice over in fact. They had no idea where the relevant prophecy might be, and as far as he could see, no way of finding it other than looking at each individual orb.

"Bugger," he said with a sigh. Placing his wand in the palm of his hand, he concentrated, mustering all the conviction he could manage, but his hopes were in vain. The wand span like a gyroscope, but refused to come to a halt. In the end, he had to cancel the spell.

"How come it works in other rooms, but not in here?" Draco asked, looking down at the wand with a confused expression on his face.

"How am I supposed to know?" Harry responded with heat in his voice. "Department of Mysteries, remember? It's practically part of the job description. Any ideas?"

"We can't just go through them all individually," Hermione said. Harry resisted the urge to congratulate her on pointing out the obvious so well, but it was a close run thing. He looked around in frustration. His eyes lit upon the label he had just read, and he finally absorbed the information on it. "Hang on; this label is from 1993. When are the other dates?"

A cursory examination suggested that all the orbs on that row of shelves were from the same year. Hurriedly, Harry jogged to the end of the row, and headed left. The next row covered 1994. He waved to his friends, beckoning them after him, and set off looking for the row for 1981. It was a fair distance – it appeared that 1989 had been a busy year for prophecies, since it had three whole rows devoted to it – but eventually, they found what they were looking for. Harry broke into a run, dashing down the row, his wand held high to illuminate the names on the labels. Dawson, Edmundson, Fairfax…he ran faster, leaving his friends behind. Moody – possibly a relation? – Howarth…he skidded to a halt suddenly, his frantic gaze catching sight of his own name. He let out a triumphant laugh, and looked over his shoulder gleefully.

"I found it! It's still here!"

"So it is," a terribly familiar voice replied. Harry raised his wand, a fearful chill seeping over him, and projected more light from his wand. A group of Death Eaters stood there, his friends cast down but unhurt amongst them. Except Ginny. Sirius stood at the front of the group, the light from Harry's wand giving his eyes a manic glint. He had his hand wrapped in Ginny's hair, holding her in place, and his wand at her neck.

"So it is," he repeated. "Now be a good boy and get it down, would you?"


	27. Battle of the Prophecy

**Chapter 26: Battle for the Prophecy**

Harry turned away from the rows of prophecies, facing Sirius squarely. His god-father actually had the audacity to be smiling at him, his expression almost proud. He took a couple of steps closer, pushing Ginny in front of him. She stumbled, but his grip on her arm was firm enough to keep her more or less upright.

"Harry," he said, "seriously. You're outnumbered, and your friends are captured. Just pass us the prophecy, and we can all head home. What do you say?"

"Black…" a masked figure behind Sirius started to speak, but Sirius merely raised his hand, cutting him off.

"Shut up. Well, Harry? It's a generous offer, you can't deny that."

"You planned all of this, didn't you?" Harry said, the realisation hitting him full in the face. How could he have been so stupid?

Then Sirius shook his head, snorting with laughter. "Hardly. What, you really thought we were relying on you breaking out of Azkaban? How did you manage that, anyway? And how did you know we were coming here?"

"I saw it," Harry said, not going into specifics. Sirius probably knew what he was talking about, and if he didn't, then Harry wasn't going to spare the effort to enlighten him. "And I flew."

Sirius' brow furrowed. "You stole a broomstick? Bloody quick broom for government issue."

"No, I flew. With magic." Harry watched that sink in, and Sirius adjust his thinking appropriately. Given that the only other wizard around at the moment who could fly, that Harry knew of, was Voldemort himself, Sirius had to be a little worried about his godson's ability now. To his surprise though, Sirius chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

"Harry, I've said it before and I'll say it again – you're an incredible wizard. You really are."

He paused, as if waiting for a response from Harry, but there was simply no possible world in which Harry would thank Sirius for a compliment. Not now. Sirius shrugged, and continued. "It doesn't have to be this way you know. Our Master is always looking for new recruits; you could go far with us, Harry, you know you could."

There was silence for a long moment, and then Harry spoke only one word: "Fire."

"What?"

"Fire," Harry said again. "For when I fight you, I'm thinking fire will be the way to go. You've got nothing to offer me, Sirius, and Voldemort has even less. Don't bother with the mind games. Just let my friends go."

"We're hardly likely to do that, are we?" Sirius replied, a disappointed expression on his face. "You might do something stupid if we didn't have hostages."

Harry could hardly deny that. He could feel his magic straining to be unleashed, to wipe the smugness right out of Sirius. He forced it down though, determined not to let any of his friends get hurt. "And if I do get the prophecy? What then?"

"You hand it over to us, and we'll go our separate ways. We're not here to hurt you, you know," Sirius replied, and to his credit he looked sincere. Of course, Harry thought, he had looked sincere about everything for nearly fifteen years, so it clearly came easily to him.

"Speak for yourself, Black," a cheery voice piped up. "I haven't had nearly enough fun tonight…"

Harry's grip tightened on his wand. Rosier. That complicated things; Sirius might be a complete bastard, but at least he was sane. Sirius took his eyes off Harry for the first time, looking over his shoulder, and Harry flashed Ginny an encouraging grin. There was a slight twitch of her lips, acknowledging the effort, but she was clearly sweating with fear.

"Rosier…you know he's off limits," Sirius told his companion warningly. Rosier shrugged.

"I didn't say I was going to kill him, Sirius! I just want to see how the little hero's coming along, nothing wrong with that…"

"Hey, bring it on," Harry called out, trying to project bravado into his voice. In truth he had no desire to face Rosier in a duel, but it might distract the other Death Eaters sufficiently. One of the Death Eaters stepped forward, removing his mask to reveal Rosier's familiar leering grin.

"I've always admired your spirit, Harry, truly. D'you really think you can face me though?"

"I fought Voldemort himself the other week, and that wasn't too bad," Harry retorted. "Do _you _think you can face _me_?"

Rosier's expression blackened, and he whipped his hand forward; a flash of light erupted from the wand that Harry hadn't quite noticed. As quick as he could, Harry flicked his own wand, and Rosier's spell rebounded off into another stack of prophecies. Rosier snarled, and gestured as if to press his attack, but Sirius grabbed his arm.

"Are you insane? Let me handle this!"

"You heard what he said!"

"Yes, and I don't care. It's irrelevant, understand!"

"How dare you," Rosier growled, turning to Sirius with anger practically radiating from him, but Sirius did not look away.

"I don't care, Evan. Take it up later if you must, but we've got a task. We've wasted too much time as it is."

Rosier took a deep breath, and then took a step back, pausing only to flash Harry a look of pure hatred. Harry grinned at him, with a cockiness that he did not truly feel. Sirius watched Rosier until he had taken his place once more, and then turned back to Harry.

"Harry, be sensible. There's ten of us to seven of you, and you're the only one we haven't caught yet. You can't defeat us. Defiance is just going to get people hurt unnecessarily, you do see that, don't you?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably, but I'm not really seeing any other option. I'm sure as hell not going to co-operate with you. Anyway, there might be more of you, but do all of you together equal one Voldemort? Because like I told Evan…" he trailed off meaningfully.

Sirius closed his eyes for a second, clearly exasperated. When he opened them again, all trace of amicability had disappeared. "Maybe not. Are you good enough to take us all down before we've cut your friends' throats? Don't think we won't."

Harry stared at his godfather, trying to discern how much of what he was saying was a bluff or not. Seconds passed. And then Harry let out a long breath, and reached up to take the prophecy. It was cool to the touch, and somehow resisted his efforts to take it, just slightly. The resistance faded though, and it came away. He held it out in front of him, studying it. The orb glowed with its own source of light, and there was a faintly visible shape moving inside; it looked human. After a moment, he tore his eyes away and looked at Sirius. He had a triumphant smile on his face, and just a touch of relief. He reached out his own hand for Harry to hand over the prophecy, but Harry did not move.

"Why does he want this so badly?" Harry asked. Sirius stared at him.

"Why do you think? He wants to know what it says. You of all people should know how that feels – or did Dumbledore tell you?"

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't interested. I don't care about prophecies, you should know that."

"Then why do you care so much about it?" Sirius pointed out. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I don't. I just don't want him to know what it says. Why on earth would I think that was a good idea?"

"Too bad for you…" Sirius replied with a grin. Harry matched it.

"Too bad for _you_."

With a casual gesture, he tossed the orb into the air, and then with a thought he _pushed_ it. The wave of magic he hit it with shot it far and fast over the Death Eaters, who instantly dropped their hostages to keep track of it. Exactly as Harry had hoped. Another push knocked Sirius off his feet, and a swift motion with his wand sent a bolt of light at the floor by the massed Death Eaters. His friends were already diving for cover, and the spell exploded on impact, releasing a wave of energy that sent all the Death Eaters sprawling.

"Move!" Harry cried, and his friends ran for it. Sirius had pushed himself to his feet, spitting curses in Harry's direction. Waving his wand in a circle in front of him, Harry blocked each spell, but his godfather would not stop casting. Gradually, Harry was forced back under the deluge of spells; he risked a glance over Sirius' shoulder, and a jolt of panic ran through him as he realised the other Death Eaters had disappeared. Taking advantage of Harry's distraction, Sirius cast another spell. This one dissolved Harry's shield and carried on through, repeating the effect on Harry's already tattered shirt. Gritting his teeth, and cursing his own inattention, Harry let loose an unfocused blasting spell. Sirius parried it successfully, but the shockwave from the blast sent him staggering back, surrounded by falling prophecies. Harry swiped his wand, and the prophecies whirled around Sirius, hounding him continually.

Then he ran, the sound of shattering glass following him as he worked to counter the spell Sirius had hit him with. It wasn't easy, but he managed it, ending up with a large hole over his chest, and scorched skin.

"_I thought he didn't want you hurt," _Titus remarked.

"Guess I pissed him off," Harry said, not stopping. "Point me friends!"

His wand spun in his palm, but did not stop, gradually slowing to alternate between two separate directions, to the left and straight ahead. Harry's heart sank. They had separated. But which to go to first? None of his friends were useless, but he wouldn't want to swear to their ability against Death Eaters on their own, especially scared as they doubtless were. He hurried to the end of the row he was lurking in, and found himself looking at a wall. He looked back at his wand. He could hardly keep going straight ahead; he turned left.

The sounds of the chaos he had left behind him had now died away, and the Hall was eerily silent. Picking his way carefully through the rows upon rows of shelves, not daring to light his wand in case Sirius saw it and so navigating solely by the faint glow from the orbs, he slowly found his way to the door they had come in by. He hung back for a moment, watching the door carefully. He couldn't see anybody, although that didn't mean they weren't there. He didn't know any spell that might allow him to be sure though. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the main aisle.

There was a notable lack of reaction, and he relaxed. Quickening his pace, and keeping his wand ready, he hurried through the door. The corridor beyond appeared to be deserted, but there were scorch marks all over the walls. They looked fresh though. "Point me!" The wand whirled again, pointing him both down the corridor and through the wall. He set off at a jog down the corridor, now resigning himself to needing light. He swiftly conjured a little ball of were-light, sending it hovering ahead of him.

A few yards down the corridor he found blood.

Filled with dread, he paused, touching his fingers to it. The blood was still sticky, but clotting quickly. Sprinting now, he set off again, wand still directing him and his empty hand ready to throw magic if it came to it. Running past a door, the wand spun once more, and he skidded to a halt. The corridor no longer ringing with the sound of his footsteps, he could hear the distant sound of spell fire. Bracing himself, he blew the door open with a well placed spell, and threw himself through.

He was immediately blinded by pure white light, and he threw his arms over his eyes, dropping to floor in the expectation of a barrage of curses. Nothing came though, and he looked up. The light was coming from the walls; the whole room was just pure white. He couldn't even say that it was glowing stone. It looked more like the room had actually been constructed from the light, although even with magic Harry couldn't fathom how that was possible. Pushing that consideration to the back of his mind, he looked around for a way through. There didn't seem to be another door. In fact, there didn't seem to be anything in the room at all. Stricken by a sudden, panic inducing thought, he whirled round.

The door he had blasted open was gone as well.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Damn it, Granger, move!"

Draco flicked his wand in the direction of the approaching Death Eater, and a shimmering wall sprang into existence across the corridor. Grabbing Hermione's arm, and beckoning Ginny after them, he made a break for it. Loath though he was to admit it, his spell wouldn't last for ever, and it wouldn't be long before they were being pursued once more.

Damn Potter for bringing them here, anyway. And damn himself for being stupid enough to follow them all. He wasn't a hot-headed, brainless Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! He was supposed to be calm, rational…sneaky, even.

His father was never going to let him forget this.

"Malfoy, let go of me!" Hermione wrenched her arm from his grasp, glowering at him, and he scowled back.

"Are you going to at least try and keep up then?"

"We left Harry behind! We don't know where Ron and the twins are, either – we have to go back!"

"Fuck that," he retorted emphatically. "Potter's more than capable of looking after himself, and in case you haven't noticed, we've got problems of our own. We need to get out of here, never mind heroics."

"I'd like to see you stop me," Hermione told him, witheringly, and she turned on her heel. "Ginny, come on."

To Draco's disgust, the red-haired girl instantly followed her older friend. "I thought you had a few brains at least, Weasley," he told her. She shrugged.

"Harry didn't give up on me when I was in the Chamber, and my family would never abandon me. I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't try and help them, would I?"

"Exactly," Hermione said pointedly. Draco shook his head.

"You two are insane. Utterly insane." Adjusting his grip on his wand, he stepped over to join them. "Which way are we going then?"

"You're coming with us?" Hermione asked him, instantly suspicious.

"Sure. If Potter ever found out I'd abandoned you two to your fate, I don't even want to think about what he might do to me," Draco said, not entirely accurately. Harry would never do anything _too_ bad to him. Probably. "Besides, I can always use you pair as human shields if we do run into trouble."

"A boy after my own heart," spoke a voice from the shadows. Before any of them could react, their escape route had been cut off, flames erupting from the cracks between stones. For one brief instant, the wall of fire billowed apart, and a cloaked figure walked through, his face shrouded in shadow. Then he lowered his hood, his boyish eyes gleaming.

"Let's see what Malfoy's whelp can do, hmm?" Rosier said.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Fred and George could be down right terrifying when they put their mind to it, Ron mused as he watched his brothers. He was used to seeing them in a more relaxed light than their current circumstances allowed; at present, they were synchronously casting spells at a trio of Death Eaters. As he watched, one of the Death Eaters caught both spells to the chest, and rocketed backwards, indescribable things sprouting from his chest. The two remaining Death Eaters replied with screaming green light, and the twins leapt apart.

That was where Ron came in. The Death Eaters automatically tracked a twin each, ignoring him completely. The yelps of surprise as he banished their wands were a joy to hear; they were swiftly cut off as Fred and George finished the job with a few precise jabs and twists of their wands. They left the Death Eaters bruised, unconscious, and dangling from the ceiling.

"Good work, brother mine," George commented. "We should be proud of that."

"Too right," Ron said fervently. "That was wicked, what you did to that other one!"

"Yeah, he won't be getting up from that anytime soon," Fred said with a vicious grin. "What now?"

"We've got to find the others," Ron said. "Did you see which way they went?"

"I think they went the wrong way down the corridor," George replied, his concern obvious. "I don't know how many Death Eaters followed them but let's face it, there are other problems here."

"Damn right," Fred said, nodding his agreement. "This place could be a death trap!"

"We didn't see anything that bad…" Ron said uncertainly. Sure, those brains had been weird, but the Ministry wouldn't have anything dangerous just wandering the corridors, surely?

"We didn't see all of it," George pointed out. "Besides, we don't know if there's anything that might have been locked up that isn't anymore. Frankly, after some of the things we've seen tonight, I'm not going to trust this place to not have something stupidly dangerous just tidied away."

"Fair enough." To Ron's side, one of the Death Eaters twitched, and he jabbed his wand at him. The spell sent him rocking back and forth, but clearly sent him back under once more. "What was that spell Hermione was doing earlier?"

"What, Point Me?" Fred balanced his wand in his palm. "Point me Ginny!" The wand spun furiously, before coming to rest pointing back the way they had come.

"Fantastic," George sighed.

"Chin up, brother!" Fred declared. "Harry'll be keeping them busy, I guarantee it."

"Nah, I haven't heard anything blowing up."

Shaking his head, Ron bent down to pick up a wand that one of the Death Eaters had dropped. It didn't seem a good idea to leave them lying around, just in case someone revived them. Fred nodded his approval, and flicked his wand at the other two Death Eaters; their wands leapt through the air and into his outstretched palm.

"You never know when they might come in handy," he said. "Shall we?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry let out a roar of frustration as he aimed his wand at the wall once more. He had cast all the spells he could think of that might have been of use in getting out; now he simply poured magic at it, in the hope that it would overwhelm whatever magic this was completely. So far though, there wasn't so much as a mark to show his efforts.

He couldn't understand the point of the room. There wasn't anything in there, so presumably it wasn't in active use – was it some sort of cell? It would certainly be just as effective as the barred rooms at Azkaban, although it wasn't quite as soul destroying. Whatever it was for though, his magic seemed to be next to useless. The stream of magic between the tip of his wand and the wall was now shining so brightly that it nearly out shone the walls, and sparks were dripping from the edge of the beam. He held it there for a full minute, this time, then let the magic subside.

Nothing had changed.

He sank to the floor, resting his head in his hands as exhaustion threatened to overcome him. Hadn't he done enough so far tonight? He had broken out of Azkaban and into the Ministry, challenged his godfather and mastered the wind itself, and now he was locked in a doorless room. Surely the universe could afford to cut him some slack, just this once.

There was a faint hissing noise behind him, and he whirled round, wand raised. A young woman stood there, her face blank, almost lifeless. She was looking at Harry carefully, and something about her made him lower his wand. She smiled.

"Hello."

"Hello…?" Harry replied, uncertain what to make of this. "Who are you?"

"My name is Alba. What's your name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter. You – well, I don't want to be rude, but you weren't here a moment ago…"

She laughed, a little tinkling sound that had more life in it than anything else about her. "Of course I was, silly! You just couldn't see me. I wanted to be sure of you before I appeared. You're very powerful, you know."

"So I've been told," Harry replied. Almost unconsciously, he took a step backwards. Alba took a step forward, closing the gap between them. Her eyes were fixed straight on his, barely blinking.

"I almost thought you were going to tear the wall open. I'd have liked that. Do you know how long it is since I've set foot outside this room?"

Harry shook his head, and she sighed. "Neither have I. I don't even get proper visitors these days. I just want someone to talk to."

"I'm sorry, but I've got to find my friends," Harry told her. "I think they're in danger. Could you let me out?"

"Oh, Harry," she said, sighing sweetly. "I don't have any power over this room! If I did, I wouldn't be here right now. I hate it, you know."

"It doesn't look like the most exciting place," Harry agreed, looking around. "So you live here? All the time?"

"More or less," Alba said, a sly grin breaking out on her lips, the first expression Harry had seen her with. "Perhaps you could take me with you when you go?"

"I…I'm not sure that would be a good idea," Harry told her, edging away slightly. The girl's expression was slowly getting wilder and wilder.

"But we could be friends! Wouldn't you like that, Harry?" She licked her lips, and for a second there was a predatory glint in her eye. Harry took another step back, and raised his wand in one smooth motion, levelling it between her eyes. The look of rage that crossed her face sent a shiver down his spine, and then she leapt at him.

A thought sent a spell rocketing towards her, and it struck her abdomen, but she did not so much as flinch. She landed on top of him and dragged him to the floor, practically screaming at him. There was nothing coherent about it, nothing human, and Harry grabbed her wrists. She was icy cold and strangely insubstantial, but try as he might he could not move her. A glob of saliva dripped from her mouth, falling on his chin, and he could feel her trying to scratch at his face. Grunting, he kicked his leg up, pushing her over his head. She hit the ground with a thud, and he rolled away, flicking his wand at her. A stream of fire whipped at her, igniting her clothes, but once more she didn't stop, jumping to her feet and flying at him, still screaming wildly. She bounced off his hasty shield charm, but the spell failed as well, leaving him open.

As she staggered back, Harry conjured thick chains which curled around her ankles and knees, dragging her to the floor. She spat, and bent to pull at them. To his astonishment and fear, the metal links showed clear signs of strain; she must have been outrageously strong. With one final pull, she tore them apart, and threw herself at him once more, whirling the fragmented chains like whips. Another shield charm repelled her, and then Harry jabbed his wand at her. She was thrown back, and some quick spell work ended with her stuck to the wall, the chains falling from her hands. She snarled at him, writhing against her bonds, then abruptly stilled, her rage disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. I just…they experiment on me." Her voice took on a pleading tone, trembling slightly. "I can't always help myself. You understand that, don't you? If you got me out of here, I'd get better, you'll see!"

Harry found himself nodding, raising his wand to cancel the spells he had placed on her, and it was only then that he realised what he was doing. He lowered his wand, looking at her curiously. "What the hell are you?" he asked her, but she made no reply beyond a contemptuously curled lip. He shook his head. "Sorry, you're staying right where you are. You might be telling the truth, in which case I'm sorry, but I can't trust you."

Her eyes flickered, and the magic binding her vanished. With a startled curse, Harry flicked his wand at her, but she ignored the spell once more, pouncing at him with her teeth bared.

There was a familiar, welcome hissing noise, a shouted word, and a large chunk of rock hit her in the side, throwing her across the room. Harry turned and ran, heading towards the gap in the wall that had suddenly appeared, and Fred's more than welcome presence. He dived through the gap, pulling Fred with him, and the door slid shut. As it closed, he could see Alba charging at them, still screaming. When the door closed, the sound was cut off completely. Harry sank to the floor, panting with exertion.

"What the hell was that?" Fred asked incredulously, kneeling down next to him. Harry looked up, and was delighted to see that George and Ron were also there.

"I have no idea," he told them, shaking his head. "I was looking for you, and my wand pointed me through there. I got the door open, headed in, and got trapped. She just appeared out of nowhere, like she'd Apparated in, but she didn't use any magic against me…she seemed far more interested in tearing my throat out."

"Vampire?" Ron suggested with a look of nervous anticipation, but Harry shook his head.

"Wasn't animalistic enough. Close run thing though…"

"Do you know where the others are?" George asked, his concern obvious. With a guilty start, Harry realised that if it was just the three brothers, that meant they had no idea where Ginny was. Of course they were worried. It wasn't as if he could give them any good news though, and he said so.

"I think I might have been heading their way, if you came from the other direction?" At their nod, he climbed to his feet. "We'll just have to hope they didn't go in there…"

There was no response. Nobody wanted to consider that possibility, even Ron and George, who hadn't seen the creature. Repeating the locating spell, Harry set off with the others following swiftly behind. The wand was still pointing to the other side of the room he had entered; they would just have to find another way around.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Rosier was toying with them.

That was, perhaps, the worst of it. Actually, and Draco winced as he dodged another lazy curse, the various bleeding wounds were probably the worst of it, realistically speaking, but those would heal; his pride might never recover. Weasley was already unconscious, having taken a curse across her chest early on, while Granger, to give her full credit, was still valiantly defending herself. She hadn't landed a hit against Rosier yet, but there again Draco himself had only managed one fairly minor one.

The Death Eater cackled as he let loose a barrage of flashing silver shafts. Draco vaguely recognise the spell, and dived into Hermione, pushing her to the floor. The shafts soared over them to impact against the wall, letting loose a cloud of steam that Draco knew would kill them in minutes if they breathed it in.

"Get rid of the smoke," he hissed to his companion, before whipping his wand up and over his shoulder. The spell should by rights have yanked Rosier's arm out of its socket, but a last second parry sent it hissing into the wall. Rosier laughed again, and Draco went for something a little more direct. A streak of blue light shot from his wand faster than he could blink, and struck Rosier's hip. The force of it whirled him round, forcing him to brace himself against the wall for a second. He looked down at the wound, and his face slackened with surprise.

"You cut me," he exclaimed. He looked up, and Draco couldn't decide whether he looked happy or furious. "You cut me," he said again. "I'm very impressed!" Then he flicked his wand towards the ground, and Draco was hit with an overwhelming wave of force, pressing him down. He let out a groan of pain as his spine compressed, and felt his wand slip from his fingers.

"Leave him alone!"

The pressure vanished as suddenly as it had arrived, cut off in the wake of Hermione's shrill declaration. Draco looked up to find Hermione standing over him, her wand smoking from the spell she had just cast. Rosier was wreathed in green fire, and for a moment Draco thought that not only had Hermione beaten the Death Eater, she had beaten him with dark magic, a situation he would previously have listed alongside the second coming of Merlin, or his father expressing admiration for Dolores Umbridge. It was only after a second look that he realised Rosier wasn't screaming; if Granger had used dark magic, then she hadn't done a very good job of it.

"An illusion, yes?" Rosier asked calmly. He brushed his arms, and the fire vanished. "Very clever, I must admit, but not terribly effective. You should have run while I was distracted."

"I'm not going to run from you," Hermione spat back in defiance. Rosier sighed theatrically.

"Ah. I see now why such a clever girl went to the Lions. You have no common sense whatsoever." He raised his wand to curse her, and Draco began to push himself upwards, struck by the sudden urge to defend her as she had aided him.

Then a wall slab tore itself free, and struck Rosier full in the face. He fell to the floor, blood streaming from his broken nose, and Draco looked over his shoulder. Harry stood there, his wand held high and his eyes blazing with power, while behind him the Weasley brothers were standing over their sister. A curse whipped over Draco's head, and he threw himself back down as Harry returned spell fire. He had seen Harry duel several times now, although never under such serious circumstances, and he knew that his friend had the capacity to be a clever, subtle duellist.

On this occasion, he simply set fire to the air behind his friends.

Rosier was lost to view completely, but it was too much to hope that Harry had killed him. The Death Eater undoubtedly knew a great many tricks to survive. Sure enough, when Harry released his hold on the spell a couple of seconds later, it was as if Rosier had never been there.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you burnt it so hot he was vaporised?" Draco asked Harry as he climbed to his feet. To his shame, he had to lean on Hermione for support; Rosier's attack had winded him more than he had realised. To his disappointment, but no real surprise, Harry shook his head.

"No, he's run off somewhere. I'm sure we'll see him again shortly. You guys ok?"

"We are," Hermione answered for them both. "I don't know what he did to Ginny though…"

Harry nodded, turning sharply to go and examine the younger girl. She looked ok to Draco, bar her unconscious state, and he turned his attention to Hermione.

"Thanks," he muttered, trying not to actually look at her.

"For what?" she asked him, sounding genuinely confused.

"For saving me," he elaborated, certain that his face must be Quaffle red. It became worse when she laughed, just for a second.

"You don't need to thank me, Draco. You'd have done the same for me."

"You sound so sure," he said, quite surprised by this. He hadn't thought she had such a high opinion of him. She grinned.

"Of course. There wasn't anyone around to see you being nice to me, after all."

He couldn't help it. He laughed with her. As the moment passed, Harry stood up from where he had been kneeling over Ginny. The younger girl was still unconscious, but she looked healthier.

"We've done what we can; now we just need to get out of here," he told them authoritatively. "And we need to stay out of the side rooms, as much as possible. There's some weird shit in them."

"I'll say," one of the twins muttered. Draco could never tell which one was which.

"What's the plan then? How are we getting out of here?" Hermione asked, a slight tremor in her voice, and Draco suddenly realised that her laughter just then had been a front at best, a sign of borderline hysteria at worst. She was terrified, and in all honesty he couldn't blame her. Harry sighed, and for a moment he looked crumpled…defeated.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "Trying to retrace our steps seems the best way, but I can't guarantee we won't run into the Death Eaters."

"At least they're an obstacle I can understand," Hermione countered, and Harry nodded, smiling slightly.

"Fair point. How many of them are there, anyway? There must have been six, at least, and I'm sure I saw a few more."

"Didn't get a clear view," Fred said with a shake of his head, "but we took down three of them. Probably not permanently, but we got their wands too. They won't be a problem."

"Good work!" Harry declared, delighted with this stroke of good fortune. "The Order ought to be here soon – they might even be here already, I guess – so we'll outnumber them easily after that."

"Forgive me if I don't get too confident," Draco muttered. "Come on, let's get on with it. Rosier could be back at any moment."

Harry nodded decisively, and beckoned them after him, setting off back towards the Hall of Prophecy, a ball of were-light guiding them from a respectable distance in front. As they walked, Draco noticed a battered looking door, which for some reason made Harry shudder as he walked past. He didn't ask. It seemed almost certain that this was the source of the 'weird shit' his friend had mentioned, and Draco had no desire at all to find out what that meant.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Harry would rather die than admit it, but the confidence he was doing his best to project was utterly false.

For one thing, while he was reasonably secure in his own ability to stand up to individual Death Eaters – he hadn't just been being cocky with Rosier – the fact remained that Draco, Hermione and Ginny had barely stood up to Rosier; they would inevitably be encountering more Death Eaters before the evening was over. Ron and the twins seemed to have handled themselves pretty well, to be fair, and it was certainly true that Rosier was a special case as opponents went, but nevertheless…increased numbers would not win them the day. Even his own superior skill and power wasn't a guarantee against multiple opponents.

For another thing, he was sure it hadn't taken them this long to head _from_ the Hall of Prophecy.

Could the rooms be moving? It was theoretically possible, he was sure – the staircases at Hogwarts moved, after all, and presumably it would only be an extension of such magic – but that didn't explain _why_ the Department of Mysteries would have been constructed in such a fashion. Of course, he had never been entirely sure why the stairs had been enchanted, rather than simply building more, and he had a sneaking suspicion that where magic was concerned, construction was more a matter of 'why not?' than anything else.

If the rooms were moving though, or the corridors were stretching, then the issue of how to get out had suddenly become even more complicated. Trying to retrace their steps was going to be impossible if they couldn't trust the walls. He had surreptitiously tried the Pointing charm a couple of times, trying to find the exit, but for some reason the spell didn't want to co-operate. He risked a look over his shoulder; Hermione was looking around her anxiously, although that didn't necessarily mean she had noticed the weird geography. She was plenty scared as it was. Draco merely looked grumpy, while Ron looked more concerned with Ginny – who was resting in George's arms – than anything else.

Eventually, the light revealed scorch marks opposite an open door, and when Harry poked his head around the frame, he could see the twinkling light of hundreds upon thousands of prophecy orbs. He grinned in relief, and turned back to his friends.

"We're back here, at least. Can anyone remember how many doors down it was that we came through?"

Depressingly, nobody responded positively. Harry sighed, looking down the corridor in the hopes that they might be able to see another open door.

"Has anyone else noticed how much we suck at planning?" Ron asked, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "We're never going to get out of here!"

"Of course we will!" Harry responded, trying to sound as sincere as possible. We got back here, didn't we?"

"Yeah, go us. We walked along a corridor for a bit. We are explorers at their most intrepid."

"Will you shut up, Ron!" Hermione snapped, turning on her heel to glare at him. "We'll find a way. We always do."

"And if we do run into anything weird, at least we'll be able to face it together," Fred chipped in.

"You know, I wish you wouldn't keep talking about the crazy stuff around here," Draco complained. "I'd prefer to just not think about it, if it's all the same to you."

"Believe me, so would I…" the older boy retorted.

"Could we all just keep it down, perhaps?" Harry said, his voice cutting through Draco's irritable response. "I know we haven't seen them for a bit, but do try to remember that there's a few psychopaths wandering around tonight, and they're not very happy with us. Let's not lead them right here, hmm?"

Draco and Fred ceased their sniping, looking faintly embarrassed. Harry watched them for a moment before he was satisfied. "Right. It can't be far this way. If we haven't found it soon, we'll just have to cut through another room and see where it comes out. They're all arranged around the…lobby, I guess, so it shouldn't be too hard."

He set off once more, his footsteps clacking against the stone and his wand held high above his head, lighting the way. The corridor past the Hall was not as scarred, and the door they had come through had not been conveniently left open. In the end, he picked a door at random and opened it cautiously.

Given everything they had seen so far that evening, it was rather disappointing – although that also meant that it was a refreshing change, it had to be said. Plain stone, with a few empty, long tables for decoration. He didn't immediately set foot inside though; the white glow aside, Alba's room had been fairly innocent. Here though, he could actually see a door on the other side of the room, which seemed promising. Extending his wand, he charmed the door open, before levitating one of the tables into position to hold it open. Only then did he walk into the room, the others huddled behind him.

Nothing happened, and they breathed a collective sigh of relief. Filled with a new, genuine burst of confidence, Harry hurried across the room and vaulted up onto the table. The room beyond was dark; he couldn't see anything, but he could hear the sound of wind. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stepped through.

The wind instantly tore him from the floor, and he was thrown around the room, bashing into the walls. He yelled in pain, flourishing his wand in an attempt to stabilize himself, but the wind was simply too strong. Suddenly terrified that he was going to be crushed against the ceiling, he conjured several balls of light, which were instantly swept away from him. The whirling light did reveal that the room was more like the base of a tower; he was certainly in no danger of hitting the ceiling, given that it must have been twenty feet above him, at least. His theory had been correct. The Department of Mysteries was clearly very much bigger on the inside.

His eyes streaming from the wind, Harry attempted to reclaim the calm and control he had used on the storm above Azkaban. It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was his only realistic one. Something about the wind repelled him though, sharp pain shooting through his skull.

"Harry!"

He opened his eyes to see that Hermione had followed him, and was now tearing through the air, her mass of hair puffed up around her. He grabbed her hand as she went past, and then aimed his wand at the ground. A stream of bright light burst from the tip, and buried itself into the floor. A flick of his wand sent the stream curling around his left wrist, then around Hermione's waist. Thus tethered, he hope to be able to turn his attention to getting them down.

And then spell fire lit up the room below them.

Another door to the room had opened, revealing two masked Death Eaters, who were slinging spells at Harry's friends. Ron had fallen to his knees, his wand arm extended to project a slight shimmer that Harry took to be a shield spell; certainly the Death Eaters' spells didn't seem to be impacting beyond his wand. Behind him, Fred and Draco were shooting off arrows of light that were being easily repelled into the walls around the two Death Eaters.

It seemed a stalemate, for now, and Harry focussed all his attention on getting down. Channelling wind that was mostly above you while you were standing on solid stone was apparently a great deal easier than channelling it when you were being buffeted on all sides and only just managing to stay in one place though. On top of that, when he could muster the concentration to touch the wind with his mind, it didn't feel natural. The pain in his head increased everytime he tried, and he eventually retreated, gasping for air. Perhaps it was time to abandon delicacy.

The room below exploded.

Hermione screamed in fear and panic, and it was hard for a moment for Harry not to join her. He tilted them downwards, praying for the smoke to clear and show them what was happening – but when it did, his worst fears were answered.

Draco, Ron and the twins were sprawled on the floor of the room, somehow unaffected by the tempest, and covered in blood and dust. The wall around them had exploded, and Harry aimed his wand at the spot he had last seen the Death Eaters, struck by a thirst for revenge.

They weren't there.

It took a second for that to register; surely they wouldn't have beaten the others, then left Harry and Hermione stranded without even an attempt to capture them? Then the penny dropped. If the Death Eaters had blown up that wall, the others would have been blown backwards, not into the room. They had been blown up from behind.

Sure enough, two other Death Eaters strolled through the debris, their wands held before them. Harry couldn't identify the spell they were casting, but it was clearly forcing the wind away from them, allowing them to remain on the ground. One of them flicked his wand, rolling Draco over to face the ceiling. The other turned his face upwards, and smiled coldly at Harry. It was Sirius.

"We really must stop running into each other like this, Harry!" he called up to him. "It's a shame you broke the prophecy, you know. Now we're just going to have to take you back for our Lord to deal with you. It could have been so much easier if you'd kept your nose out of our business."

Harry simply spat at him. The saliva never got close to him, whisked away in the wind, and Sirius grinned at him. Then he aimed his wand at the tether. With no time to properly consider the possible results, Harry simply sank back into instinct. He summoned the floor. The tether vanished just as his summoning charm backfired; the floor being so much more substantial than even Harry and Hermione combined, his spell wouldn't call it to him; instead, they were both yanked downwards at break neck speed. Hermione screamed, and shot off a spell at the rapidly approaching stone. Harry didn't recognise it, but they bounced, and Harry severed the magic keeping them together.

His next movement was a spiralling wand flourish, which ended with a bolt of white light throwing Sirius through a wall. Ignoring the other Death Eater, Harry charged after his godfather, spreading his magic around to snare some debris to use as projectiles. As he went through the wall, he was met with a couple of spells, which impacted harmlessly against one block of stone. Harry replied with a sweep of conjured metallic shards, and at least one hit home, to judge by the yelp of pain.

With a start, Harry realised they had arrived back at the lobby. None of his markings had survived, but surely they were nearly out now. Slashing his wand down, a streak of fire appeared across Sirius' chest, but it disappeared before it could cause too much damage.

"Hermione! Get the others if you can, we're nearly there!" He ducked to avoid a nasty looking spell, and transfigured some small lumps of stone into fiery birds of prey, their vicious claws dripping sparks. They swooped around Sirius, distracting him while Hermione helped their injured friends out.

"_Crucio_."

The spell hit Harry in the back, and he collapsed, screaming in agony. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione appear, her wand blazing, but a Death Eater appeared out of the shadows, grabbing her once more. The spell was released, but before he could even begin to recover, a boot was planted firmly on his spine, pressing him down.

"Behave, Potter," Rosier's sing song voice piped up. "You didn't really think it was going to be that easy, did you?"

"Don't damage him," Sirius barked, approaching his partner. He looked battered, Harry was pleased to see, and there were definitely a couple of scorch marks in his robes and hair. His next words chilled Harry's blood. "Do what you like with the others."

"No!" Harry yelled, pushing up against Rosier's foot, but then Sirius was swinging his foot, and he nearly blacked out as he felt his nose break under the force of the kick.

"What did you expect? They're going to die, Harry, and it's all your fault."

"Not if we have anything to say about it, Padfoot."

Sirius stiffened, a slight smile spreading over his face. He turned round, falling into a mocking bow of welcome. Remus and Peter stood there, other members of the Order coming out of the corridor behind them. The two Marauders had their wands trained exclusively on Sirius, and Harry had never seen such an expression of raw hatred on their faces before.

"Step away from him, Sirius," Remus commanded. "Time to pay the price of betrayal."


	28. Last Stand in the DoM

**Chapter 27: Last Stand at the Department of Mysteries**

Twin streaks of light shot towards Sirius, and he raised his wand from its position at Harry's face to parry them. They darted off into the walls, and Harry ducked away from his godfather. In a flash, his wand was back in his hand and he rolled to his feet. Rather than Sirius, he trained his wand at the Death Eaters standing over his friends, all set to rescue them…only to find that the Death Eaters had leapt to combat the Order. The lobby exploded with flashes of light, while most of his friends sank to the ground, too weary or battered to join in the fight at present. Casting an anxious look at Remus and Peter, both busily duelling Sirius, Harry crawled across the room to them.

"Are you guys ok?"

"I'm never following you anywhere again," Draco muttered, clutching his chest and grimacing. Harry looked at him in concern.

"How bad is it?"

"Do I look like a bloody Healer?" the blond snapped. "I don't know, feels like that time that Bludger cracked my ribs."

"Here…" Harry waved his wand over Draco's chest, and the other boy sighed, relaxing slightly. "Better? Good. Anyone else I can help?"

"We're ok, 'part from Ginny," George said with a shake of his head. "No offence, but I don't think you should try and patch her up. She's a little more serious."

"Couldn't agree more," Harry said. "Let's get out of here."

"Are you sure?" Hermione said, looking up at him. "Do you think the Order will be ok?"

"They'll have to be; we certainly aren't," Harry told her quite frankly. "I'll get you out of the Department, then I'll head on back. They can do without me for now, at least."

Hermione bit her lip uncertainly, looking back at her injured friends. The twins weren't too bad, a few cuts and bruises, but Ginny and Draco were certainly out of action, while Ron was looking distinctly pale. Eventually, she nodded. "Alright, let's go."

Keeping his wand ready, and a shield charm hovering around them, Harry helped Ron to his feet, while Hermione grabbed Draco's arm. Hermione quickly matched Harry's shield, and they moved as quickly as they could towards the still open door that the Order had appeared from. Harry ushered his friends through the door, keeping a watchful eye on the raging battle behind them – and then when they had all gone through, he slammed the door shut, pressing his wand to his neck.

"_Order members! Hit the floor!"_

He followed his own advice as the room began to whirl, darkness descending over the room save for a few stray spells. Whatever else might be said about the Order, they had good instincts; maybe not all of them dropped to the floor, but it was certainly more than the Death Eaters. The dark silence was broken only by startled yells as people were thrown around the lobby, and the dull thud of bodies against the wall. When the torches burst into light once more, nobody was standing up. Grinning viciously, Harry leapt to his feet and darted towards his target.

Sirius was just staggering to his feet, looking around for his wand, when Harry grabbed him by the neck. He let out a strangled cry, but the younger wizard's momentum carried them onwards, bursting through a doorway into the room beyond. The floor quickly dropped away beneath them, and both wizards tumbled down a hard slope, rolling to a stop at the bottom. Harry looked up, quickly grasping that they were back in the Veil chamber, before swinging his wand to point at Sirius. His godfather had regained his feet, but stopped at Harry's gesture. Back in the lobby, they could hear the sound of battle once more.

The two wizards stood there, both panting from their exertions and watching each other carefully. Sirius very carefully did not move, but he spread his arms wide, as if to welcome Harry.

"It really doesn't have to be like this, you know."

"You're playing a broken record, Sirius," Harry shot back. "You've got nothing that could interest me."

"Harry, the Dark Lord is going to revolutionise our world!" Sirius exclaimed. His eyes were starting to take on a somewhat manic appearance, and Harry tightened his grip on the wand. "For so long we have been in decline, in thrall to fools like Dumbledore. Magic was never meant to be bound, Harry! You know that, I know you do. I've seen some of the things you can do – the Ministry will hold you back, but the Dark Lord can give you freedom!"

Harry stared at Sirius incredulously. "Sirius, he _tried to kill me. _A lot! He killed my parents! Why on earth would I even consider anything he might have to offer?"

"You need to think about the bigger picture, Harry. I know there would be…obstacles, that you don't and wouldn't approve of his methods, but it's all for the best, you have to see that! Magic without limits…surely you can see the appeal?"

Harry hesitated, the wand dipping slightly. For one moment, the thought was appealing. Not Voldemort, never that. Not even Sirius, who at times he hated even more than he did Voldemort. But if it could be managed by other means…He had never felt particularly restrained, or at least by anything other than his own abilities and in-experience, but he could see the theoretical point. Magic was life, after all. What could be better, more natural, than a world free of the restrictions imposed by the Ministry, here and around the world?

Then his will hardened, and he levelled the wand at Sirius once more. "No," he said, his voice firm. "Voldemort is evil, Sirius. How can you not see that, after everything he's done?"

Sirius shrugged, his expression sad. "What was it your aunt kept saying? You can't make an omelette…"

"Is that all my parents were to you? Eggs?" Harry asked him bitterly.

"Mostly," Sirius said. "Lily was a bit stuck up, and James was an idiot, but they weren't _that_ bad."

Harry's eyes flashed, and he stepped forward to ram his wand into Sirius' neck. Instantly, Sirius blurred; in a second, Harry was faced with a giant black dog. Before he could readjust, the hound was leaping through the air towards him, drool flying from its open jaws. Harry let off a spell with a bang, and Sirius whimpered slightly, but the full weight of the dog landed on Harry, sending him crashing to the floor. Immediately, Sirius was snapping at Harry's neck. Harry bit back a cry of pain as the sharp teeth broke his skin, but grit his teeth and kicked his legs up. Sirius went flying over his head, and Harry pushed himself to his feet.

The animagus was bounding back up the stone steps, his wand carefully gripped in his mouth. Harry snarled, grabbed his own wand and waved it in a lassoing motion. A coil of fiery energy whipped out, wrapping around Sirius' hind legs. He jerked to a halt, and Harry started to yank him back. Sirius blurred once more, catching his wand as it fell from his mouth, and blue light rushed towards Harry. He ducked away, letting the coil fade away, and cast a Summoning Charm. Sirius barked with laughter, hopping up onto one of the benches.

"Summoning Charms? Really?"

One of the higher placed benches hit him in the back as it soared towards Harry, reacting to the charm. Sirius was thrown forward, tumbling over the benches to land in a heap on the floor. Harry darted towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his robes and yanking him to his feet. Sirius promptly threw his head forward, impacting against Harry's nose. This time, he did cry out, blood spurting from his broken nose and his glasses falling from his face. Sirius kicked them aside, and punched Harry in the stomach. Staggering back, Harry gestured vaguely with his wand, thankful beyond belief that he had put some effort into casting without an incantation. Dimly, he heard a bang, and an exclamation from Sirius as he was thrown backwards. Now blinded, Harry retreated, fumbling his way behind one of the benches on the front row. Performing another vague gesture, he Summoned his glasses, tracing the frames carefully with his fingertips. He grimaced; they were covered in hairline fractures. Carefully holding his wand over them, he repaired them as best he could, and replaced them gently on his sore nose.

Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

Harry raised his wand, a Shield ready to manifest, and stepped out from behind his flimsy cover. No spell-fire came towards him, and he stepped further out. There was a flurry of motion behind him, and as he turned around two wolves leapt at him, drool flying from their gaping jaws. Caught by surprise – _where the hell had they come from?_ Harry asked himself – he did not react in time, and he was knocked over once more. His surprise did not last long, and he jabbed his wand into the first wolf's pelt. With a thought and a whisper, the wolf was thrown skyward with a bang, and as it rose it changed form, morphing back into a lump of stone. Harry rolled out of the way of the debris as it fell, and turned his attention to the second wolf. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed Sirius running back up the steps towards the lobby. Snarling in a manner very much like the beast facing him, Harry gave a great sweep of his wand. The wolf jerked backwards, whimpering and bleeding as it fell to the floor; as Harry completed the motion, his wand came to rest aiming at the bank of steps, and the stone floor rippled violently.

Sirius just had time to throw himself to the floor, grabbing a bench, before the steps bulged outwards in an attempt to throw him backwards. Another jab of the borrowed wand, and Harry rendered the benches white hot, drawing a cry of pain from his godfather as he released his grip. The floor rippled again, and Sirius was cannoned back towards the Veil. He landed sprawled on his back, and before he could stand up Harry was looming over him, kicking his wand away.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Harry was having none of it. He flicked his wand, Silencing his godfather for the moment, and dragged him further up the podium towards the Veil. Closer to it, he hauled Sirius to his feet, and pressed him against one side of the arch. Only then did he remove the charm.

"Harry, we really shouldn't be this close – "

"Shut up," Harry told him flatly. He jabbed the wand into Sirius' neck, tilting his head back slightly. "Just one question: what happened to the prophecy? Don't lie to me, now."

"It shattered," Sirius said, closing his eyes in resignation. "A lot of them did, but I found the crystal fragments where you threw it."

"Did you hear what it said?"

"…No," Sirius said after a moment. Harry smiled coldly at his godfather's obvious shame over the failure, but he took a step back, pulling Sirius away from the Veil.

"Guess it's lucky for you that you're not getting out of here then, isn't it?"

"Going to kill me, Harry?" Sirius said with a snort. "Doesn't seem likely, if you'll forgive me saying it…"

Harry raised his wand automatically, but hesitated. Could he do it? _Should_ he do it? Sirius had undoubtedly done enough to warrant vengeance, but did that give him the right to issue it? Given the Ministry's adherence to the absolute letter of the law, over the spirit of it, was killing him worth another trip to Azkaban?

A slow smile spread over Sirius's face as he realised what was running through his godson's head, but before either of them could act, Harry's head exploded with pain. He staggered back as waves of unfamiliar rage swept over him, nearly driving him to his knees. Flashes of another place entirely filled his head before disappearing. The assault ceased as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only a dull ache in the centre of his forehead. Looking back at Sirius, who hadn't moved, and was watching Harry suspiciously, Harry gave a sickly smile.

"He knows, Sirius. And he's not happy about it…"

His senses tightened, and from within the lobby there was a deafening explosion. Both Harry and Sirius were hurled from their feet, even so far away as they were, and a gout of fire licked through the open doorway. The front of the door started to melt and bubble under the heat, but it dissipated as it rolled down the steps to the arena. Shaking his head groggily, Harry clambered to his feet. He shot a glance at Sirius, but his godfather was lying prone, apparently unconscious. Putting him out of his mind for the moment – Sirius was now the least of his problems – he prowled up the slope to the lobby, his wand ready.

The Dark Lord Voldemort stood amongst the sprawled and battered bodies in the lobby, Death Eater and Order member alike. His fury blazed in his glinting red eyes, but as he turned to face Harry, something like a smile crawled across his pale face.

"My dear Harry, such chaos you've caused! So much destruction…do you think the Ministry will thank you?"

"Do you think I care?" Harry responded dismissively.

Voldemort shrugged carelessly. "Perhaps not. I would not, were I in your position. Azkaban…truly a terrible place, is it not? I don't blame you for breaking out, although I fear that in the eyes of the law that will rather position you alongside myself."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I've already had that offer tonight; you can fuck off as well."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and he shifted his arm, revealing his wand. "You would do well to remember that the only reason you are still alive is my curiosity, Potter. Black may have lost the prophecy, but I don't believe Dumbledore would have gone this long without sharing the information with you. You will tell me."

Harry grinned savagely. "Make me."

Voldemort laughed. "If you insist." In the blink of an eye, he had drawn his wand and cast a spell. A lazy haze seeped over Harry, and he felt all his cares and turmoil wash away as if the spell were spring water.

_Tell me the prophecy._

Harry frowned, the words a discordant note in the peaceful fog, and he shook his head, trying to remove their echoing sound.

_Tell me._

Tell him what? Harry thought. There wasn't anything to tell.

_Tell me!_

"No!" The haze was torn away, and Harry realised that he had sunk to his knees. Voldemort stood over him, his eyes once more blazing with fury, and Harry _pushed_ at him. It was a weak effort, spur of the moment and probably diluted by the lingering remnants of the Imperius curse, but it still sent Voldemort rocking back. He recovered his balance swiftly, even before Harry could collect himself; an upward sweep of the Dark Lord's wand manifested an unseen force which clubbed Harry in the chin. He followed it up with a Killing Curse. Still dazed, it was all Harry could do to duck under it. He returned fire, but Voldemort simply batted his spells aside dismissively.

"Potter, I am reluctant to kill you until I know exactly what that prophecy said, you know that." Voldemort waved his wand again, and the floor beneath Harry's feet started to twist, snapping at his feet. "Do not think for one second that I will have any hesitation in torturing you, slowly and painfully, until you divulge every detail however. Surely you wish to avoid that?"

Harry hopped backwards through a nearby door, grabbing the doorframe to steady himself. His eloquent response was to whip his wand around; a spear of blinding white light streaked towards Voldemort. The Dark Lord's lips curled; he conjured a steel shield in front of him, but the spear just ate through it. Voldemort hissed in surprise, but before the spear could touch him he vanished into a smoky haze. The spear passed harmlessly through to impact against the wall behind.

The smoke had disappeared. Wary of attack, Harry conjured a shimmering shield around himself, and prowled back into the lobby. There was no sign of his opponent; the only other people in the lobby were the battered bodies on the floor. Thinking quickly, Harry waved his wand, banishing everyone from the Order into another room. If the lobby was going to be the sight of the main battle, he wanted as little potential for collateral damage as possible. After a moment's hesitation, he banished the Death Eaters as well. They were defenceless: he wasn't going to let them get hurt in their current state.

"How noble of you."

"Just the right thing," Harry said as he looked around.

"Do you think they would do the same for you?" Voldemort asked, fading into view. He sounded genuinely curious.

"Does it matter?"

"Dumbledore would be proud of you," Voldemort said with a sneer. He flicked his wand, and the wall behind Harry burst. Long spikes stabbed towards him, beginning to ooze the closer they got, and they melted straight through his shields. Some quick spell work froze the sludge even as it clung to his cloak, but it cost him precious seconds. He turned his attention back to Voldemort just as a wave of pressure swept across the lobby. It caught him up and drew him back, pressing him tight against the wall. His arms were splayed apart, held there so that he could not use his wand, and then the wall started to suck at him.

Slowly, torturously, he was imprisoned further inside the wall, the now oozing wall binding him tighter and tight. He struggled against the bonds, but to no avail, and panic began to fill him. Voldemort prowled towards him, a feral smile on his thin lips. He raised his wand to level with Harry's eyes, and held it there. A second. Two. Harry struggled ever harder, but the enchantment was too strong. He could barely even wriggle.

There was a flash of light, and Voldemort staggered forward. The enchantment on the wall immediately lost some of its power, allowing Harry some freedom of movement. Both he and Voldemort looked to the left. Remus was slumped against the doorframe through which Harry had banished him. He was hardly up to a duel, but his wand lolled between his fingers, and his expression was fierce. His wand twitched, and another bolt of light erupted from the tip. Voldemort batted it aside with a sneer, and flicked his own wand in a dismissive gesture. Remus' head jerked to the side, just once, and he fell backwards with a thud.

"No!"

His panic burnt away by sheer rage, Harry pushed his magic away from him with all his might. The wall imprisoning him exploded; some of the scattered fragments flew towards Voldemort at break-neck speed. The Dark Lord swiftly vanished them, but Harry was up and at him. He didn't bother with the wand; instead he simply thrust his hand out and pushed once more. The wind storm that had trapped him earlier, still raging in the battered room, answered his call like a well-trained dog. As he had above Azkaban, he curled the wind around himself, and battered Voldemort with him. The Dark Lord was ripped from the floor, tossed and turned like driftwood, before being slammed into the ceiling. Another gesture held him there, as Harry formed the wind liked a disc over his body. Harry walked over to stand beneath his enemy, glaring up at him.

"I'm not going to let you hurt anyone else!"

"You cannot stop me, Harry." Voldemort forced the words out through the wind's strain. "Nobody can stop me. I killed Dumbledore and walked away. Even you cannot dispute that I am the greatest wizard alive now."

Harry snorted. "You're hardly in any position to claim that. Look at yourself."

"Perhaps," Voldemort allowed. The pressure of the room sank, the air clinging to Harry's skin. The ceiling behind Voldemort cracked, ever so slightly, and then he disappeared, the air tearing as he vanished. Harry instinctively raised his wand, projecting a shield over himself to catch any debris. The lumps of stone hit the ground hard, raising clouds of dust that obscured his vision. Covering his mouth, Harry looked around urgently. There was no sign of Voldemort. For a moment, he thought about trying to find him, give chase. But…Remus. Waving his wand to clear the air, he dashed towards his guardian, falling to his knees beside him.

"Remus? Remus, wake up! Come on, please…"

The older wizard groaned slightly, and Harry sagged in relief. Not for the first time, he bitterly wished he had invested some time in learning more than a couple of basic healing charms, but he did what he could for him. Then, leaping to his feet, he looked around for Voldemort.

The lobby was a mess. The wall that Voldemort had enchanted was still dripping, lumps of liquidised stone splashing to the floor. There was a hole in the ceiling, and the floor had cracked under the impact of spells and debris. There wasn't a single door still in place, and the room reeked of burnt ash. He closed his eyes, let his senses drift…

Six people – Order members – in the room behind him. Ten in the room to his right. Various bright spots of magic shining away, signs of the Unspeakables' experiments…and one beacon-fire, blazing away at the very centre of his mind. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at a particular room. He walked forward, picking his way gingerly through the debris, and stood in the doorway.

It was the gem they had seen earlier. The chains that suspended were clinking gently as they shifted, and the white glow still shone forth, dimmer than it had earlier. Reluctant to get too close to it after the number it had done on him earlier, Harry turned away.

Voldemort's lightning bolt struck him in the chest. He was blasted backwards with a yell of pain, his flesh blistering under the intensity of the spell. All he could see through the pain were Voldemort's eyes, the red slits filling his vision. And then he hit the ruby.

The pain vanished instantly. For one glorious moment, he felt better rested than he had since before Dumbledore's death. Then the contact finished as he fell to the floor, and the pain returned, albeit diminished. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the gem. There was a hairline crack running along the base, the light glowing brighter there than the rest of the gem. Suddenly, he realised he could hear Voldemort walking towards him. He sat bolt upright, snapping off a bolt of light that tore through Voldemort's shoulder. Voldemort recoiled, hissing in pain, and gave a vicious swipe of his wand. A burning line snapped across Harry's face, and he felt his nose break painfully.

He pushed himself up, light streaming from his wand, but a motion from Voldemort countered it in mid-air. Arcs of energy spiralled away from the contact point, grounding themselves in the chains. With a burst of effort, Harry wrenched himself away from the tug-of-war; he pointed his wand at some desks in the corner, and muttered a spell he had heard Remus use a few times: "_Waddi-wasi!_" He returned his wand to Voldemort, and the desks leapt at him, battering him backwards. Harry pressed forward, setting fire to the desks even as he animated them to continue their charge. One of the desks reared up as if on its hind-legs to kick at Voldemort with its flaming legs, before a hex from the Dark Lord's wand shattered it in a cloud of smouldering splinters.

Voldemort promptly banished the splinters at Harry; he countered with a shower of water, which he attempted to freeze even as it washed over Voldemort. The Dark Lord had already cast another spell though, which flew over Harry's shoulder. Harry had a brief moment of satisfaction, thinking Voldemort had missed him completely, but then the golden chains snapped towards him. One round his arm, one round his waist, one round his neck. His Transfiguration was cut off, as was his breath, and he was jerked back, the wand falling from his fingers to clatter to the ground.

The Dark Lord's eyes lit up with triumph, and he moved towards Harry, levelling his pale wand at his chest.

"_Titus! Help me!_" Harry thought desperately, but there was no reply. Voldemort's wand did not waver, and Harry realised, with a sudden emptiness, that there was nothing he could do. Nobody was coming, not this time. Voldemort opened his mouth to speak a spell, and the air crackled. All of a sudden, Harry's free – and more importantly, unbound – hand was occupied. His fingers reflexively curled around the object, and his eyes flickered towards it.

The sword. He had almost forgotten about it in the months since Dumbledore had returned it to him, but now he welcomed it like an old friend. Looking back at Voldemort, his heart leapt as he realised that Voldemort was staring at the sword warily. Seizing his opportunity, he swung the sword. The chains split apart like butter, and he dropped back to the floor. As before, the sword was perfectly balanced, barely weighing him down at all. He transferred it to his right hand, and held out his left hand. The dropped wand leapt to his open palm just as Voldemort launched another attack.

A veritable column of fire roared towards Harry, but twin gestures from wand and blade cut the stream about, arcing it around his body to scorch the stone. Another gesture, and the broken chains rippled from the floor to twine themselves around Voldemort's legs. They melted before they could entrap him too far though, and the vile light of the Killing Curse filled Harry's vision once more.

Not trusting the sword that much, Harry ducked away, tearing a leg from one of the desks to intercept the curse. It exploded. He lunged, stretching the sword out, and the tip of the blade stabbed into Voldemort's thigh. There came the sound of sizzling, reminiscent of a frying steak, and Voldemort screamed. His rage and pain manifested itself physically, and Harry was thrown across the room again. He hit the ground hard but recovered quickly, rolling away and up to a crouch. Voldemort was examining the wound on his thigh, and he looked up, his eyes wide. Then he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, drifting away through the door frame.

Harry charged after him, cursing as he realised that the Death Eaters appeared to have vanished. The Order members were starting to wake up, and he ran onwards, leaving them behind. The smoke trailing behind Voldemort led him through another doorway, back into the corridor he and his friends had entered the Department through earlier that evening. He picked up his pace, panic beginning to break through the adrenaline. He had sent his friends back this way. What had happened to them? Had they escaped? Alerted someone? Or maybe other Death Eaters had ambushed them – maybe even Voldemort himself. And the sword…there was a mystery to it that he intended to solve. It had burnt Voldemort the same way it had burnt the memory of the sixteen year old Tom Riddle back in the Chamber, and had appeared just as fortuitously. How had that happened? Summoning something in such a fashion was far from impossible, but to do so unintentionally was a very different matter.

Harry left the corridor at a dash, and carried on back through the Ministry towards the lifts, his lungs burning. There were still no signs of life; nobody from the Ministry, and none of his friends. The lift doors were open, and he ran in at such a pace that he bounced off the wall, jabbing his finger against the buttons. The lift couldn't travel quickly enough for his tastes, and he found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet. When they slowly ground open at the atrium, he practically flew out.

"Harry!"

"Ginny?" Sure enough, the younger witch was leaning against the Fountain of Magical Brethren, her expression still riddled with pain. Hermione was standing over her, her wand at the ready. He darted over to her, wand and sword ready for anything. "What are you doing here? Hermione, I thought you were going to take her back to Hogwarts!"

Both girls shook their heads, and Ginny grimaced at the pain the movement caused. "Ow…no, they thought that taking me through the Floo might not be the greatest idea. They've all gone to get help."

"I can't believe they just left you both here…" Harry muttered. Hermione glared at him.

"We wouldn't let any of them stay, nitwit! They had more important things, you know that."

Harry disagreed profoundly, but didn't press the argument. "Have you seen anyone?"

She shook her head. "Like who? It's all been deserted since they left, but that wasn't long ago."

"It must have been, we were all fighting for ages," Harry told her.

"Nope," Ginny said with a shake of her head. "You kicked us out – sod you for that, by the way – about twenty minutes ago."

"Huh. Time flies…can you move?"

"I don't think so," she admitted, looking ashamed. "It hurts too much."

Hermione tutted, biting her lip with worry. "There'll be a Healer here soon, don't worry. I didn't dare try and do anything, not yet. I don't know enough about healing."

"You and me both," Harry said with a sigh. He placed the sword at his hip, and ran his hand through his lank hair as he surveyed the atrium. "This is a real mess, Hermione. Voldemort was there."

"What?" Hermione yelped. "Is everyone ok? We've got to get out of here…"

"Everyone's fine," Harry said. _I think…_ Out loud, he continued: "He ran away. I don't know why though. Something about the sword, I think."

"Sword?" Ginny looked blank, then blinked in surprise. "Where the hell did you get that? Didn't you have that in the Chamber?"

"Yep. Don't know how it got here though," Harry admitted. "Useful though. You haven't seen anything come past though?"

They both shook their heads again, and Harry swore. Voldemort couldn't have got away, surely? Well, if he thought about it he probably could; there was little to stop him, certainly. The question was, why? Voldemort had no problem flitting the scene if things weren't going his way, it was true, but that could hardly be said to be the case here. More to the point, he hadn't acquired the prophecy, and it seemed he wasn't going to. Voldemort wasn't the type to simply shrug and walk away in the face of thwarted ambition; it would be far more characteristic of him to kill everyone who wasn't loyal to him, before reducing the building to ashes beneath a glowing skull.

So where was he?

The doors to the other lift burst open with a scream of tangling metal, and a column of black smoke struck Harry in the chest. He was thrown backwards, carried onwards by the smoke, his ears filled with a raging, malevolent sound – and then he came to rest in the arms of the golden wizard statue. He clung to the wizards left arm, hanging there as he tracked the black smoke with his other hand. The smoke – Voldemort – looped back on itself to splash against the ground. There was a rustling sound, and when the smoke cleared Voldemort stood there once more.

Without stopping to think, Harry pushed magic away from himself, electric blue light leaping from his fingertips. Voldemort parried it dismissively, but another streak of light clipped his shoulder. It barely staggered him, and he turned his burning gaze away from Harry. Below the fountain, Hermione was covering her mouth in shock, unable to believe that she had just hexed Voldemort himself. Voldemort raised his wand, and Harry leapt away from the wizard, pushing magic away once more. He felt the energy brush against two of the other statues as he fell, and the house-elf leapt from its podium to land in front of Hermione and Ginny. It was just in time. Voldemort unleashed a curse, and it struck the elf solidly in the chest. There was a deep gonging, and the elf melted away like snow.

Harry landed awkwardly in the water of the fountain, stumbling to his knees. He fell further forward at the sound of metal striking against metal. Behind him, the centaur reared up on its hind legs before leaping over the three of them. Voldemort let out a vicious snarl, but the centaur charged him without pity. It was a fine example, and one Harry intended to learn from.

A wave of his hands sent the rippling waters whirling around Hermione and Ginny, while a second spell froze it solid. It wasn't the most effective shield in the world, but it was robust and wouldn't require any attention to keep it in existence. As Voldemort blasted the centaur in two, Harry launched himself out of the fountain and into the air. The floor was slick with water that he hadn't kept within the makeshift wall, but he ran towards Voldemort, raising the wand as he did so. A spell whipped over his shoulder, and he heard the sound of shattering ice behind him, but he maintained his pace. He slung his own spell towards Voldemort, a little ball of shimmering force that struck him on the hips. There was the crack of breaking bone, and then Harry was upon him. He didn't think, didn't cast – he simply smashed his hand, palm flat, into Voldemort's face, much as he had Quirrel years ago.

Voldemort shrieked, and Harry felt heat began to spread from his hand. It wasn't the only sensation, however. Icy, numbing cold was seeping up his arm. The more heat that spread out, the colder his arm became. He held it there as long as he could stand, but then Voldemort hurled him away. Before Harry could recover himself, Voldemort was standing over him, wand levelled at his forehead. There was an ugly burn over his face.

"Sweet Morgana!"

Both Harry and Voldemort flicked their eyes in the direction of the speaker. The fireplaces were blazing with green light, and dozens of people stood before them. Foremost was Cornelius Fudge, his eyes bulging at the spectacle. He raised a quivering hand to point at Voldemort.

"S-seize him!"

Several people behind him stepped forward, drawing their wands, and Voldemort bared his fangs in a cold smile.

"Minister. How nice of you to make an appearance. My apologies, Harry," he said, turning his gaze back to the younger wizard, "but you are no longer the greater prize. Not until I am sure of...what exactly you are."

And then he was smoke once more, snaking across the atrium. The Aurors and Ministry workers cried out as he enveloped Fudge. And then the smoke had gone.

So had Fudge.

The cold had spread further than his arm, covering his chest. Heat was no longer leaving him, but the cold would not stop. Harry pushed himself upright, waving his hand at the icy wall around his friends. As it collapsed, Ron, the twins and Draco appeared, running towards them.

They were the last thing he saw before he blacked out.


	29. Epilogue: Ambitions and Dreams

**Epilogue: Ambitions and Dreams**

"Just try it, Tulliver."

Remus rested his hand on Peter's arm in warning, trying to pull it back down to his side. Pointing a wand at the head of the Department of Mysteries was probably not the smartest thing to be doing under the circumstances, no matter how much he might sympathise. Peter shook him off, but lowered his wand. Slowly. Tulliver simply sneered at them.

"You might think you're special, but as far as I'm concerned you're just as guilty as Potter. I've half a mind to arrest the pair of you as well, and all those other miscreants you dragged along."

"Well then, I suppose it's a good thing you don't have the authority to arrest people, isn't it Silas?" a new voice broke in. Tulliver turned, revealing the imposing figure of Rufus Scrimgeour. He limped further into the private room, and looked past Remus and Peter at the sick bed.

Harry lay there, pale and still. He had not yet woken up after the duel with Voldemort in the Ministry atrium, but his breathing was steady. The Healer standing over him was carefully ignoring the confrontation, concentrating on making sure Harry was well.

"How is he?" Scrimgeour asked the two Marauders. Remus sighed.

"As well as can be expected. Various injuries that the Healers have already patched up, or made a start on at least. Nothing life threatening though. He just…"

"He won't wake up," Peter said bluntly.

"Why?"

"We don't really know," the Healer said. He stood up, finally having administered the last potion, and ran his hand through his hair wearily. "He's been beaten up, obviously, but there's something more than that. Nothing I've ever seen before."

"Hardly surprising," Tulliver muttered. The Healer glared at him.

"I am quite competent, thank you. But if you think you know something more by all means enlighten us."

"I would assume it is something to do with his burgeoning…sorcery." Tulliver spat the word as if the mere thought of it offended him. Scrimgeour frowned at the statement, while Remus froze. Peter's hand twitched, giving away his desire to put a spell right between the Unspeakable's eyes.

"How did you know about that?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"I run the Department of Mysteries; it's my job to know things like that," Tulliver said.

"You're lying," Peter said more firmly. "How did you know."

There was a moment's silence as the two men stared at each other. Then Tulliver sniffed. "I suppose it doesn't really matter. The Department of Mysteries was originally established to track down sorcerers. We've known for years that Potter was showing signs of changing."

"So you can help him," Remus said, hope dawning. "You can teach him how to use his powers?"

"We find sorcerers and kill them," Tulliver continued. "It's far too dangerous to do anything else."

In the time it took Remus to process this statement, Tulliver had been flung back against the door, pinned there by a spell. Peter strode forward and grabbed him by the throat.

"Stay away from him. If you lay a finger on him I'll kill every last one of you."

"Ahem."

Peter did not release Tulliver, but he looked over his shoulder. Scrimgeour was watching everything carefully, leaning on his cane for support.

"I think we can resolve this amicably, if I may? For a start, Harry will not be arrested. Nor will anyone involved in tonight's incident. Is that understood?"

Tulliver gurgled, and Peter released his throat – but not the spell. "Not arrested? You do know what he's done tonight, don't you?"

"Broken out of Azkaban, broken _into_ the Ministry, helped catch several Death Eaters and prevented the Dark Lord scoring a significant victory," Scrimgeour said calmly. "Quite an evening's work, I'd say. They certainly balance out."

"And perhaps you didn't hear about Morcambe?" Tulliver said sourly. "It wasn't the greatest place in the world, but at least it wasn't underwater before he broke out."

"Wait, what?" Remus said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Potter used a storm to fly himself back to the mainland," Tulliver said. "But he didn't think about the fact that would make the sea rougher behind him, did he? It followed him, and guess where the first place he flew over was?"

"Morcambe, I assume?" Scrimgeour replied.

"Of course. Cue several tonnes of water in the streets, Merlin only knows how many people injured or killed, a fortune in property damage…and all because of one reckless little boy."

Peter responded with a flick of his wand; a streak of light hit Tulliver in the face, and he bit back a cry as his nose broke. "You can hex me all you want. It's true."

"It is, I'm afraid, true that Morcambe flooded tonight," Scrimgeour commented. Tulliver's face lit up with satisfaction for a moment, but the Auror was continuing. "As far as we can tell so far, no one was killed and precious few were injured, although there has been a certain amount of…wear and tear on the streets nearer the waterfront. I understand a popular statue will never be seen again."

"Harry really did that?" Remus asked, looking at his ward uneasily. He didn't blame him, but he knew Harry would blame himself.

"Collateral damage," Scrimgeour said with a shrug. "I believe under the circumstances the Ministry would not be averse to helping out with the clean up. Mr Potter has done us a great deal of good tonight, after all."

"What, exactly, did he achieve?" Tulliver asked, spitting blood from his mouth. "He destroyed dozens of prophecies, nearly ruined several vital experiments my Department was running, broke out of Azkaban – "

"Where he should never have been," Scrimgeour butted in. "If you ever came to meetings, you would know that Cornelius was doing everything he could to speed up Potter's release."

Tulliver grimaced. "Best place for him, if you ask me." His expression changed as he followed Scrimgeour's train of thought. "Don't tell me he's not going to be charged for that."

"Not so much as questioned," Scrimgeour said. "Although I'm sure Warden Perks would appreciate the return of his wand and boots. I'm sure he will be thrilled that it was taken up in opposition to Voldemort himself."

"Rufus, the boy is a criminal by anyone's definition!"

"And the Chosen One," Scrimgeour snapped back. "For once in your life look at the bigger picture!"

"If you think we're going to let you make Harry into some sort of poster boy," Remus piped up indignantly. Scrimgeour sighed and turned to him, but never got the chance to speak.

"If you're all quite finished?"

The Healer was staring at them meaningfully. There was an embarrassed silence, and Peter flicked his wand. Tulliver slumped away from the wall, rubbing his nose.

"Thank you. Now, if you wouldn't mind taking this somewhere else – by which I mean, not St. Mungo's – I'm sure Harry will make a much quicker recovery. Which we all want, don't we?"

"Quite right," Scrimgeour said, clearing his throat. "Might I suggest my office, gentlemen?"

"Don't bother," Tulliver said, dusting himself off. "You do as you see fit, Rufus. As you say, I have no authority to arrest him. But make no mistake: the boy is dangerous, and the Unspeakables will do everything we can to stop him hurting anyone else."

"Harry wouldn't hurt a fly," Remus retorted.

"Tell that to Jedgar Darrow," Tulliver shot back. "He made a mess of him alright, didn't he? For what it's worth though, I know he wouldn't try to hurt anyone except in self-defence, I'm not saying he would."

"Then what are you saying?"

"He's a sorcerer," Tulliver said, as if that explained everything. Perhaps, to him, it did. "He can't help being dangerous, it's just what he is." Before he could be questioned further, he turned on his heel and walked away, barging past Peter. The younger wizard made to follow him, but Scrimgeour called him back.

"Another time, perhaps. And don't worry; Tulliver talks a lot, but he wouldn't hurt a fly either. We'll get to the bottom of it all, but Harry won't be harmed. I give you my word."

"And do you give your word that he won't be arrested?" Remus asked. He caught the Healer's still irritable expression, winced, and beckoned the Auror and Peter after him. Together, they made their way from the room, talking as they walked.

"I do, yes. Harry's a hero, anyone can see that. I'm not going to have him blamed for trying to do the right thing, no matter how hard some people might try."

"That's good of you, but you're hardly the voice of the Ministry," Peter pointed out. Scrimgeour flashed a thin smile.

"We'll see about that. While Cornelius is absent, of course. We're doing everything we can to track him down."

"I'm sure," Peter said dryly. Remus rolled his eyes. There was never a missed opportunity for political wrangling, it seemed. Not even Scrimgeour was above it all.

"Do keep me informed of Harry's progress," Scrimgeour said, taking his leave as they walked out of the hospital. The Auror promptly turned on his heel, vanishing with a pop. Remus and Harry looked at each other.

"Do you want to set a guard?" Peter asked.

"Tulliver did say that they killed sorcerers…" Remus replied.

"Yeah. I'll tell the others. See you at Privet Drive?"

Remus nodded, and Peter Disapparated himself. Taking one final look up at the Hospital, Remus followed his lead.

Back in his room, Harry Potter lay very still, completely unaware of the outside world.

On the inside though…his thoughts and nerves twitched with foreign pain and sensations. His face burned, as if someone had pressed something white hot right across his face. His thoughts were filled with murderous rage against the Order, and against the Boy Who Lived. Sirius Black knelt at his side, awaiting his Master's attention placidly. He seemed not to care about the inevitable pain.

Harry watched, an almost alien feeling of satisfaction filling him as Voldemort shrieked with rage as yet another Healing Charm failed to soothe the damage to his face. It seemed as if his adversary had acquired his own distinctive scar.

Deep within his core, a fire burnt. It had always been there, flickering away, but now it raged as if it had been fed a sack of coal. The warmth of it filled his body, slowly banishing the cold that had devoured him in the duel with Voldemort.

And at the very back of his mind, at the edge of awareness, Titus was haunted by strange thoughts. Thoughts of a ring, a locket, a cup and a snake.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_The end of Book 5_

**A/N:** And that wraps it up for this one! I wasn't expecting to have this up so soon, but then I realised that it was approaching the two year mark on this book, which seemed ridiculous. I might only have managed it by a few days, but damn it, I managed. Thank you to all who reviewed and/or favourited etc. Your support means a great deal to me, although I am once again going to single out Hellinbrand for his constant good advice and commentary.

Book 6, currently entitled **A Cold, Corrupting Fate** won't be up for a while yet. I need to work on the plan for it before I even think about starting it. I promise lots of action and revelations about some of the ongoing plot threads though. I'm looking forward to writing it. In the meantime, I shall continue to update **Hallowed**, my new Ravenclaw!Harry fic, so feel free to check that out. As ever, I'm working on some collaborative stories with Hellinbrand, to which there is a link in my profile.

See you all soon!


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